


The Spider Man Comes

by ckret2, hexxcode



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 72
Words: 356,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckret2/pseuds/ckret2, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexxcode/pseuds/hexxcode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr RP-based fic. || Tarantulas failed to seduce the Prowl of his own universe into working with him again. Why not use his interdimensional knowledge to cross universes and give it a second try?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Technically just a collection of roleplaying threads gathered for personal filekeeping, but out here to share with you as well!
> 
> Title inspiration: [Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HTFdCfK46A) by The Cure

Prowl

> The cell was hot, unwanted heat pulsing in waves off of the energy shield serving as the cell door. Prowl didn’t really expect one of Starscream’s prison cells to be pleasant, but somehow the heat was still an unwelcome surprise. He hadn’t been in the cell long enough yet to decide whether it was a heat that he’d slowly get used to, or a heat that would slowly become an intolerable annoyance; for now, all it’d done was make him click on his fans, and consider retreating to a back corner of his cell.
> 
> But he hadn’t retreated yet. He didn’t want to show it was bothering him. Besides, the back corner didn’t have a good view of the hall. He was sitting with his back against one of the side walls of the cell, angled so he could watch the hall entrance, so he’d know the moment anyone came for him.
> 
> No one had yet. Every few minutes a faceless guard walked past; once, he saw something skittering in the shadows that might have been Rattrap. Making preparations to free Prowl if things went wrong, no doubt.
> 
> All he would do was wait. He’d run all his calculations; prepared for all scenarios; his probabilities were fixed like constellations, and unless something went supernova or Cybertron’s axis suddenly shifted (metaphorically speaking, of course), they weren’t going to change until the next time Starscream summoned him.
> 
> So he dulled his optics and waited for a change.

Tarantulas

> The change Prowl was waiting for wouldn’t take long to come looking for him.
> 
> Tarantulas had been keeping tabs on Prowl for quite some time, but an opportunity like this hadn’t come along just yet. But now Prowl was trapped, locked up in a small cell he most likely couldn’t escape from – and he probably wouldn’t want to escape at the moment anyway, if Tarantulas knew him well enough. Things with Starscream seemed so tumultuous, and Prowl would be in favor of doing what it took to keep things stable instead of wasting Starscream’s time tracking him down. It just seemed like a stupid thing to do, and Prowl? Prowl was anything but stupid.
> 
> Tarantulas was no idiot either. Taking advantage of his lack of Cybertronian signaling and the more minute aspect of his mass displacement abilities, he crawled his way under doors and through cracks and ventilation without the guards picking up on a thing. He did pause to listen in on conversations long enough to catch wind of where Prowl was being kept, but wasted no time scurrying off to his ultimate destination.
> 
> One mech guarded the area nearest Prowl’s cell – only one mech, which made Tarantulas wonder if he should attempt to disarm and disorient the mech via poison or simply leave him alone and use his attention deflectors instead. Probably best not to arouse suspicion, so attention deflectors it was. Audio should be taken care of once Prowl gave him his comm frequency. He had to.
> 
> It wasn’t a difficult feat to maneuver his way into the cell, with how infinitesimally small he was at the moment, in coordination with his lack of signal and his singular knowledge of prison mechanics. Maximum security? Anything but, in Tarantulas’ eyes.
> 
> Now came the critical moment. Reintroducing himself to his dearest Prowl.
> 
> Tucking himself up and away in the opposite corner from Prowl, Tarantulas adjusted his vocalizer to be just loud enough for Prowl to hear him.
> 
> “Well someone’s in quite a convoluted bind, it seems. Hyeh.”

Prowl

> Prowl nearly jumped out of his armor.
> 
> “Who’s there?”
> 
> This was an empty cell. It was DEFINITELY an empty cell. He peered into the corner, only dimly illuminated by the red-orange force field, looking for who—or what—had shown up.
> 
> Maybe he’d overlooked a speaker. Maybe there was a crack letting someone in the next cell talk to him.

Tarantulas

> Oh, but how cute Prowl looked when he was frightened! It helped soften the injury that Prowl didn’t immediately recognize his voice, but then again, that might be too much to ask after so long a time. There was also the possibility that this Tarantulas’ voice was different than his own.
> 
> “Hmm, I wonder how long it’ll take your processor to run through your catalog of voice patterns. Or will you manage to locate me first? I’m betting the former. I’d put a good amount of shanix on that one.”
> 
> Tarantulas made sure not to move a millimeter while Prowl examined the room, even though he still had his attention deflectors on. He never knew what equipment Prowl had gotten his hands on in this universe, after all. In any case, Tarantulas had a bit of a flair for dramatics, and he wanted to make sure his physical revelation was his decision, not Prowl’s.
> 
> “How about we continue this conversation privately via comm, and I can properly introduce myself to you? Or reintroduce myself, rather.”

Prowl

> “Reintro…?”
> 
> No run-through of his catalogue was needed. Even after so much time, this voice was still near the top of his list. He hadn’t recognized it immediately—he’d been too shocked—but he KNEW that voice. Very well. Very, very well.
> 
> Someone who should be long dead.
> 
> “… No. You couldn’t…” Abruptly, he stood up, moving over to the corner, looking for the source of the sound. No speaker in the wall. No crack. Nothing but a thin, tiny voice.
> 
> Tiny voices have tiny sources. He started searching the corner for anything unusual, optics meticulously sweeping back and forth.

Tarantulas

> “And why not, hmm?”
> 
> Testing the attention deflectors, Tarantulas scurried as quickly as he could across the ceiling, promptly dropping a line down behind Prowl and landing on the floor. Taking care to be swift and silent, he displaced himself back to standard mass and transformed into root mode. There was no way to be sure Prowl didn’t notice the process, but certainly he’d see once he turned around. 32ft of purple mech and eight looming legs were rather hard to miss, especially in a small jail cell.
> 
> “Comm frequency, please?”

Prowl

> “Because that’s im—” Prowl cut himself off. And laughed harshly at himself. “I should know better than to say ‘impossible’ around you.” Of COURSE he was still alive. And Prowl’s processor fans were already kicking on high, trying to figure out how he could have escaped—and why he was here now.
> 
> The moment Tarantulas began growing, Prowl tensed, and immediately spun around. Hard to sneak up behind Prowl these days; it’s almost like he’s got eyes on the back of his head. Or settled in between his doors.
> 
> With bafflement that nearly bordered on horror, he watched as a tiny alien organic grew out of nothingness before his feet, and contorted into what couldn’t possibly have been the person Prowl remembered. “What…?” Prowl gaped at the massive mech, covered in tendons and hair and legs. “What happened to you?”
> 
> A moment to process the question. And then a short-range open comm ping, to give this monster his signal. On the same short range signal, before even waiting for his ping to be answered, «You can’t just stand there like that. There are guards every few minutes. You’ll be spotted.» Maybe he’d been LET in. Maybe he’d taken sides with Starscream. Maybe he was here to discuss Prowl’s demands—or eliminate him. Maybe…
> 
> He’d run his calculations and wait for this monster—this thing that had once been Mesothulas—to give him more information to work with. Prowl’s constellations had just been disrupted. Something had gone supernova.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas waited patiently for Prowl to transfer his frequency, then promptly locked onto Prowl’s specific line and secured it. He sent a ping back with confirmation of that fact.
> 
> «What happened to me? Oh, I did this all myself, Prowl, aren’t you proud of me?» A sweeping gesture down his frame. «Chimeracon. Biomechanically based, signals muted, impossible to track other than by the naked optic. Add on attention deflectors, and I doubt the guards will have a clue you have a visitor.» An inaudible chuckle. «Don’t worry, Prowl. I’m no fool.»
> 
> «Besides, I won’t “just stand here.” Come, have a seat with an old friend.» And with that, Tarantulas casually sat down on the cell berth behind him, leaving enough room for Prowl to sit down, although the space might be uncomfortably close for most mechs. Not that it mattered, though. Tarantulas knew there was no way Prowl would sit with him. Not yet, at least.

Prowl

> «You… how? Why?» His optics darted across Mesothulas’s new frame, taking in the details. «You’ve been to Earth?» He recognized the creature; he’d seen ones like it scurrying across the ground, during long lonely days when he was imitating an insentient car. It COULD be a similar-looking alien, yes; but he doubted it. “Why? When?”
> 
> He held up his hand before Tarantulas could start answering any of his questions. «No. Those can wait. Why are you here, and what do you want?» The odds were tipping in favor of this not being Starscream’s work. If it was, Tarantulas wouldn’t need have taken such measures to ensure he wouldn’t be caught. Besides, surely Rattrap would have mentioned if Starscream had someone like this in his team.
> 
> He did sit, yes—he didn’t trust his legs to keep supporting him, anyway—but on the floor, on the wall opposite Mesothulas’s seat, legs pulled up to his chest.

Tarantulas

> «Yes, although I -» And he was cut off by Prowl’s hand. As much as he’d love to explain things, he did respect Prowl enough to listen to him first.
> 
> Not to mention, he also kept a keen eye on Prowl himself – how dear it was, watching him curl up like that against the wall, how small and vulnerable he seemed. At the very least it seemed that the past between the Mesothulas of this universe and Prowl was similar enough to Tarantulas’ own experience, enough that Prowl would show a smidgen of trust around him, even though it wasn’t really warranted.
> 
> A pause while he thought how to word things. Based on past experiences, maybe it was best to get to the point instead of dragging Prowl around, literally and figuratively. He leaned forward slightly on his seat.
> 
> «…I’m here because I want you to work with me again, Prowl. I’ll admit we parted on rather foul terms, but I simply can’t resist the inexorable pull of that mind of yours. The story of how I got here is a long one, but I’m willing to share it with you – especially if you share with me your talent and ingenuity. There’s no downside to it, no catches, no fine print. I simply want you back, Prowl.»
> 
> Oops. Probably not the best way to word things at the end there, but it was said, and it was honest.

Prowl

> Prowl gaped at Tarantulas a moment. And then laughed in disbelief. He quickly clapped his hand over his mouth and glanced toward the hall, making sure there was no one to overhear.
> 
> «Parted on rather foul terms! I attempted to kill you! And you want to—? No. Why? What are you getting out of this?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was having a hard time sitting still while chatting – he kept gesturing with his hands, extra arms twitching every once in a while. Getting up and doing anything else was out of the question though, what with how small the cell was, the probability of someone noticing Prowl reacting, and the negative response Prowl had had to manhandling in his past seduction. Not that he had to manhandle Prowl to get what he wanted, but he’d certainly had the impulse.
> 
> «Kill me, shove me away in my own prison, sure, yes. But I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know, and it all keeps coming back to you, Prowl. My creativity, my efficiency, my production rate all peaked when you were around, you see, and you got everything you could imagine and more. We **worked**. No, we did more than work, we made leaps and bounds, and we fed off each other wonderfully.» There was a glint in Tarantulas’ optic, an uptick at the corner, the trace of nostalgia and excitement evident in his expression.
> 
> Another inaudible laugh, and Tarantulas couldn’t help but get up and start pacing at this point. «What am I getting out of this, though? Goodness, of course everything is about ulterior motives for you, you haven’t changed a bit. Can’t you see that your return is more than enough for me? I need you - _we_  need  _each other_. We were each other’s muse, Prowl. I would give anything to have that back again.»

Prowl

> Prowl watched Mesothulas’s wild gestures, optics darting between his whatever-the-hell-they-were in place of his hands, and the twitching legs on his back. Mesothulas never had been able to keep still—Prowl was surprised he wasn’t trying to pace the cell—but this was an entirely new level. Furry black organic limbs, moving not like they were a part of Mesothulas, but like they were some parasite that had burrowed into his spinal strut and taken root. (He was reminded of a human movie he’d seen about a fungus that infected its host through wounds and cuts, took over the mind, and then branched out of its host’s flesh.) What had Mesothulas done to himself? Why? He’d lost his wheels, his dexterous hands—was the trade worth it?
> 
> In part, Prowl looked at Mesothulas’s new hands and alien legs to avoid looking at his face. He’d added a visor, yes, but he’d stopped wearing his mask. Mesothulas’s unique face was the only part of him that was still familiar.
> 
> «… You’re serious.» Prowl was still considering worse possibilities—that this was a trap, that this was a set-up for a long revenge, of course he was—but the odds tipped in favor of honesty. Mesothulas had always valued his work above all else, even lives. Even his own life? Would he forgive someone who had tried to kill him if doing so helped him achieve the pinnacle of his work? Probably. He probably would. And here he was, offering—no, begging to work for Prowl. «And you thought you should do this now? Here?» He gestured around himself, at his cell and his circumstances. «What was wrong with last week? What’s wrong with NEXT week?»
> 
> Ah. THERE was the pacing.
> 
> We need each other. Something in Prowl shook at the words; he wasn’t sure if it was a shiver or a shudder. He hoped it was the latter. «You’re wrong. We didn’t inspire each other; we enabled each other. We committed atrocities together—we brainstormed horrors that grew progressively worse, until we went too far. What we did was—was wrong. That was why I ended it. That’s why I’m not going to start it again now.»
> 
> … But banishing Mesothulas hadn’t made a difference, had it? Prowl had continued to commit atrocities without Mesothulas’s help. He’d done them himself—or found accomplices to do what Mesothulas had once done for him. Pharma, Perceptor, Chromedome, more. All attempts to replace Mesothulas. And he’d found them all… lacking.
> 
> No. Nobody could give him what Mesothulas had given him.
> 
> And nobody SHOULD give him what Mesothulas had given him.
> 
> But as Prowl looked down—finally tearing his gaze away from Mesothulas’s new body—there was a hint of nostalgia in his expression as well.

Tarantulas

> It didn’t escape Tarantulas’ notice that Prowl wouldn’t look him in the face – but that was to be expected. The other Prowl hadn’t met his gaze either, not quite. That didn’t mean Tarantulas’ attention wasn’t wholly on Prowl though. Not that there was much to see aside from that glint of nostalgia, but that was enough, more than enough to warm his spark.
> 
> An amused nod as he kept pacing in tight little patterns. «Yes, here, now. How else would I be able to track you down without you running out on me, or attempting to attack me? I may be naïve, but I’m not stupid, Prowl. You’re not inclined to take me up on my deal right away. Foolish of you, in my opinion, but I understand.»
> 
> If Tarantulas had Impetus to read Prowl’s thoughts right now, oh how he’d be swooning. “He’d found them all lacking.” If ever he needed validation and praise, that would be the highest form.
> 
> «Inspire, enable, what’s the difference? What we achieved was beyond ethicality, into a realm of the impossible that was only waiting there to be realized. If it makes you feel any better though, you’re the one in control now. If you wish to reign things in, restrain yourself to the proper Autobot ideals, I won’t stop you. I’m yours to command.» A small, earnest supplicating gesture.
> 
> Tarantulas knew that wouldn’t last long though. Prowl was too curious, too imaginative, too driven to let himself be bound in such a manner. Yes, the infinite possibilities were still there for the both of them, and by Primus, they were even going to reach beyond them somehow, Tarantulas just knew it.

Prowl

> Prowl’s gaze followed Mesothulas’s thin, clawed feet back and forth across the floor. «Running or fighting would be irrational. I couldn’t risk losing track of you without determining your motives and movements first.» But Mesothulas had every right to be paranoid. Prowl supposed he couldn’t blame Mesothulas for waiting until Prowl was cornered to approach him.
> 
> «NOTHING is beyond ethicality, Mesothulas—not you, not me, and not the sins we committed.» The things Mesothulas said, though.  _Into a realm of the impossible. I’m yours to command_. This time, it was definitely a shiver. On top of everything else, why did Mesothulas have to be so damn good with words?
> 
> With those restrictions in place, though… A few rules to structure them, to keep them in line, and the things they could achieve. Already his processor was turning to the possibilities—things that over the past months he’d asked other mechs to do, things no one had been able to deliver or achieve. Ununtrium armor, a virus to attack mnemosurgeons, portable space bridges, so many things just out of the reaches of everyone Prowl talked to but surely, in Mesothulas’s capable hands—
> 
> No. No, that was how it had started last time. And look how well that had ended up—look how well Prowl had controlled himself. And that had been before his mind had become subordinate to a green monster who believed that self-control was a character flaw. His ability to control himself was already weakened; and Tarantulas’s offer was so… so… tantalizing.
> 
> He shook his head harshly, as much to reject Tarantulas’s offer as to clear his thoughts. Change the topic. «How are you here? How did you get out?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas almost let out a laugh before he caught himself. «Hyeh, Mesothulas no longer, I’m afraid. It’s Tarantulas now. It seemed more appropriate.»
> 
> He pointedly ignored the ethicality comment. Oh, he knew he was an amoral bastard, no use fighting the point. It didn’t really matter to him what Prowl thought on the matter, so long as Prowl agreed to work with him.
> 
> That shiver, though. Delicious, truly.
> 
> …Ah, scrap. This was the part Tarantulas was a little ambivalent on. He could tell Prowl how he got out of the Noisemaze, update him on what he’d been doing since, but that would also involve telling him he was from a different ‘verse. Something about that made him wary. He wasn’t sure how Prowl would take the last part.
> 
> «I ambulated here, of course, dear Prowl.» An amused squint of his visor. «Out of the Noisemaze, though? It took quite some time to properly, hyeh, “come to my senses,” I’ll admit – but after a few centuries of torment I was able to activate my emergency jumpgate.» A silent sigh. «Imagine my dismay when I returned to the remains of my old lab. I was depressed for quite some time.»
> 
> Slowing down his pacing, Tarantulas eventually squatted down into what had become his normal “resting” pose, a strange mix of arachnid and mech. If it made Prowl uncomfortable, well, he’d just have to get used to it. Tarantulas had  _changed_ , that much was evident, and there was no going back.

Prowl

> _Tarantulas_. Tarantulas, Tarantulas, Tarantulas. … Nope, there wasn’t a chance in hell Prowl was going to remember that. He was going to spend the next five thousand years slipping up. (Five thousand years? Part of Prowl was convinced that Mesothulas would vanish the moment this conversation ended.) «New you, new name?» Prowl asked dryly. «Your frame might have changed, but  _you_  haven’t.»
> 
> A few centuries. What was the Noisemaze like, if it took a few centuries for someone who had an emergency jumpgate to collect his wits enough to activate it? Just looking into it had hurt Prowl’s optics, he couldn’t imagine what it was like from the inside. A flicker of guilt crossed his face—and deepened at Tarantulas’s description of his lab—before he quickly smoothed the expression away, his face once again a perfect deadpan. «… There would have been no sense in leaving behind a lab that no one was ever supposed to use again.»
> 
> Mesoth—Tarantulas HAD changed, yes. Wildly gesticulating with his hands, and then twitching his many alien legs; pacing one moment, and then crouching balanced on his narrow feet the next; for every gesture and movement that was familiar to Prowl, there was another that was alien. «But it’s been far longer than a few centuries since you were locked away. Where have you been since then? Earth?» Had they been on the planet at the same time and Prowl had never known? Had one of the little skittering spiders he’d dully watched cross his path been Tarantulas? How long had Tarantulas been waiting for an opportunity like this to approach him?

Tarantulas

> «I’ve changed, so sue me.» The squint in his visor was still there, still a little whimsical.
> 
> Whimsical turned to secretly pleased at Prowl’s apparent regret, or guilt, whatever he’d call it. It wasn’t as much as it should be, but then again, when had Prowl ever felt truly bad for any wrong he’d done? Tarantulas was convinced that deep down his partner had been and still was just as amoral as he was – nothing to be ashamed of, of course.
> 
> «No, you had better reason to destroy the lab than that, but nevermind. No use bickering about things that are long since past.» His setae hissed quietly, small bristling hairs rubbing against one another. «I’ve been… following in the footsteps of giants, as it were. My research of Shockwave’s experiments brought me to Earth, yes. I was working there for quite some time before coming… back to Cybertron.»
> 
> How could he put it? He didn’t want to lie. He technically wasn’t based on Cybertron, neither in this universe nor the other one, and he was mostly occupied with following Springer. Let Prowl sniff out the ambiguities in his speech, then. Let Prowl deduce things for himself, if he would.

Prowl

> Prowl was still steadfastly refusing to aim his gaze at Tarantulas’s face—but he kept unconsciously trying to watch it anyway, tracking his face from the corner of his optics. Even with the visor, that squint was so familiar—Prowl could picture his eager red optics underneath.
> 
> «Do the reasons matter now?» Clearly, Mesothulas didn’t think they did; he seemed content enough to move on with the conversation.
> 
> Prowl cringed slightly at the sound of Tarantulas’s organic fibers rubbing each other. Eugh. Of course he’d been following Shockwave’s footsteps—why not? He was a lunatic who’d tried to destroy the universe, but sure. That was right up Mesothulas’s alley. (Part of Prowl wanted to know what he’d picked up from Shockwave’s work—what improvements he’d inevitably made. He tamped that part of himself down.)
> 
> Tarantulas was hiding things. He’d always been so eager to report on his progress since he’d last seen Prowl—rhapsodizing about his latest discoveries, optics bright and hands fluttering like he was conducting an invisible scientific orchestra. They’d been apart long enough that Tarantulas should have something fascinating to report in exhilarating detail. If he wasn’t reporting, it was for one of two reasons: he really HAD needed Prowl as his muse, had found himself unable to do anything without his inspiration, and was trying to avoid confessing that he had no new breakthroughs to report; or else he was afraid that what he’d got up to since they were apart would drive Prowl away. Prowl was betting on the latter. His new alt-mode alone should have justified enough chatter to fill a week, but he’d barely touched on it after the first mention.
> 
> If Mesothulas was hiding something, he wasn’t going to stop hiding it just because Prowl called him out on it. Attacking the question directly wouldn’t yield Prowl the information he wanted. He’d dance around the edges of it and figure out what he could from there. «You already know about Ostaros.»

Tarantulas

> Although Tarantulas wasn’t quite aware of it, part of the reason he wasn’t going on about his discoveries was actually because he’d already done so – just to a different Prowl. Although Tarantulas was perfectly aware that this was a new mech, the situation was still slightly disorienting and surreal for him anyway.
> 
> He’d just pretend this was simply a second chance to get Prowl’s attention. Which, technically, it was. The Prowl of this universe seemed fairly similar to the one of his own. The differences would be something to catch up on later, once the important things had been gone over first.
> 
> «Yes, yes I do. I know how you couldn’t bring yourself to kill him, how you fashioned a life for him, redesignated him, kept him just an arm’s length away. I appreciate you doing that much for him, although… It isn’t what I would have preferred. Such untapped potential…»
> 
> Tarantulas lapsed into silence, distorted servos fidgeting in his not-quite-lap. His precious Ostaros was still a sore point for him, but he’d mostly reconciled himself to what had happened, so long as his precious son was still alive and well. Not in this ‘verse, though, which was something he’d see to later.

Prowl

> Prowl’s gaze dropped again; and once more, there was that flicker of guilt. A mere fraction of what was going on behind his face.
> 
> «A war isn’t an ideal environment to bring out anyone’s peak potential. And I’m not a batch nurse. I’m… hardly qualified to teach newbuilds. Especially one who needed as much extra help as him.»
> 
> And he HAD needed so much help, at the start. He hadn’t been able to speak; he hadn’t engaged with the outside world at all. Prowl had slid him into support groups for MTOs that had come out of their first battles traumatized, and hoped that could help him. But Prowl had spent so long worried that it wouldn’t, worried that Ostaros had been thrust out into the world before Mesothulas could finish him, worried that Ostaros would be discharged from the Autobots and shipped to some neutral colony to languish in an asylum…
> 
> But he’d picked up what he was missing. He’d grown. He’d adapted. He’d flourished. He’d become a far better person than Prowl was. And Prowl was so, so proud of what he’d become.
> 
> «… I did the best I could for him. It wasn’t enough.»

Tarantulas

> False. War was quite an ideal environment for some people, Prowl and Tarantulas among them. But that wasn’t what this was about at the moment.
> 
> «If you hadn’t -» A funny noise came across the comm line, something between amusement and disgust. «Nevermind. Some things can never be taken back, and I won’t belittle your efforts. He… he isn’t beyond help, in any case.»
> 
> Help that Tarantulas fully intended to give him. Exactly how he’d do that without ruining Springer’s entire life was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet, but this was a new universe for him, new rules to figure out, plenty of time to feel things out. And Prowl could help him. Would help him.
> 
> «I’m going to intervene with him regardless of whether you join me or not, Prowl. It’s in your best interests to coordinate our efforts, though. We’re best as a team, you and I, you  _know_  it to be true.»
> 
> With that, Tarantulas couldn’t help but move forward toward Prowl, his biomechanical body shifting together in a strange concert of limbs and joints. Now on Prowl’s level, he attempted to appeal to him, almost forcing Prowl to look him in the face. He didn’t dare touch him, though. It hadn’t worked last time. He wouldn’t repeat past mistakes.
> 
> « _Return_  to me, Prowl. I miss you dearly. I need you - Ostaros needs you.»

Prowl

> _If you hadn’t_. Mesothulas didn’t need to finish. «You’re right,» he said. And then, glancing up at Tarantulas—meeting his gaze directly for the first time—he said, «I’m sorry.» For everything—for banishing Mesothulas, for being so weak that it became necessary in the first place, for destroying what was left of his lab, for continuing to be the exact same person he’d been around Mesothulas and making his banishment mean nothing. For how he’d failed Ostaros.
> 
> And then he immediately dropped his gaze, disgusted at himself. Not because he had apologized, but because he knew apologizing didn’t make a difference. Apologizing always made him feel like he was making excuses: trying to worm his way out of a deserved punishment.
> 
> Of course Tarantulas was already talking about fixing Springer. He was so optimistic about his abilities—and almost always right. For a moment, Prowl was silent.
> 
> And then, slowly, began speaking. «His medics think he’s beyond help—Fixit and Kaput, two of our best. There’s a zero point somewhere in his system, and even after a full body repair they couldn’t find it. He’s being kept stable, and we’re preventing his condition from progressing, but all efforts to wake him have failed.» He wasn’t trying to discourage Tarantulas. He was letting him know what to prepare for.
> 
> «… For Ostaros—for Springer. After that… we’ll negotiate.» He turned off his optics and lowered his head into his knees. He’d already lost this battle. He’d never really wanted to win it.
> 
> He had some recalculating to do.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s optic contact and utterances struck Tarantulas to the core.  _You’re right, I’m sorry_  - it was more than Tarantulas could have asked for, and yet mediocre, stunted, nowhere near enough to right the wrongs that had been done. The strange thing about it all, though, was that Tarantulas didn’t care.
> 
> «All is forgiven.»
> 
> He listened intently as Prowl told him things he mostly already knew. That zero point – he’d find it, he’d neutralize and repair, nurse Springer back to consciousness and… and… after that he didn’t know.
> 
> Tarantulas nodded once, spark swelling. He’d done it. He’d won. Prowl was his. If he’d had a web, Prowl would be caught in it – but then again, it was Prowl who wove webs, not he. Tarantulas tried not to let his emotion overwhelm him, but it showed through in the slight shake of his servo, the tenseness with which he held himself, the mania in his optic. Prowl was back. Prowl was his. No matter that it wasn’t  _his_ Prowl. It was Prowl. Prowl, curled up before him, claiming they’d “negotiate” later.
> 
> In a moment of weakness of self-control, Tarantulas reached out with a clawed servo with the intent of ghosting along Prowl’s jaw. He jerked back, though. Not allowed. He couldn’t break this fragile peace.
> 
> The tone in his comm was reserved, soft, mostly in an effort to keep out the shakiness that plagued his systems. «Fair enough. We can discuss plans once things have settled down. You have quite the situation to deal with at the moment, and I could have come at a better time, I’ll admit. Is there anything I can do to assist you? I – the politics of the moment, I’m not caught up.»

Prowl

> A tiny nod. Being forgiven didn’t absolve him of his crimes, any more than apologizing excused them. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he didn’t deserve to be forgiven, because forgiveness was a reflection on the mindstate of the person who’d given it, not on the guilt of the person who received it; but it didn’t really make a difference.
> 
> Sensing movement, Prowl lifted his head slightly, enough to see Mesothulas’s hand—if it could still be called that. He watched it, studying it, trying to see how the joints worked and how it moved. But he didn’t flinch away. His expression remained neutral. This was Mesothulas now—Tarantulas—and Prowl would get used to it.
> 
> «The “politics of the moment” are that I have one conversation with Starscream to persuade him to convert me from Cybertron’s most wanted to his new Secretary of State.» A thin, sardonic smile. «Not your area of expertise. Besides, I’m confident about my odds.»

Tarantulas

> The lack of response from Prowl at Tarantulas’ outreach was promising, but Tarantulas still felt like they were on thin ice. At any moment Prowl could have a change of spark, become disgusted, go back on his word, try to solve things with Springer on his own, find some way to undermine Tarantulas and his plans. He knew better than to underestimate Prowl or pretend to know his enigma of a mind.
> 
> «And what, pray tell, have you calculated those odds to be?» A quirk of his visor, quiet delight in the familiarity of Prowl’s mannerisms. «And will you have full range of motion after this chat of yours? What of your combiner team?»

Prowl

> «Ninety-four percent.» Rounded up. 93.7%, actually, but Prowl could afford to be 0.3% optimistic. «It will be quite some time before I recover full liberty, both due to my public image and because Starscream will know better than to immediately trust me. Being permitted to periodically combine  _must_  be one of the initial liberties I secure from Starscream, but they won’t be fully free either.»
> 
> A pause. «… I don’t suppose, on your pilgrimage in the footsteps of past scientists, you encountered much data on combiners.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas pondered that for a moment. What liberties Prowl might get were probably up in the air right now, so there was no use pushing. Tarantulas was confident Prowl could achieve what he needed though, especially with such high odds, so it seemed like a wait-and-see situation. Not Tarantulas’ favorite scenario, but he’d live. He’d just gotten the biggest present he could ever wish for, after all.
> 
> Tarantulas was about to issue a chitter and respond, but as soon as he’d twitched his chelicerae he felt the slight vibrations of undisguised footfalls coming down the hall. «Guard,» he warned Prowl, noting that he had a slight sensory advantage at the moment.
> 
> Tarantulas didn’t seem bothered by the guard’s appearance when he came by, but held still and refrained from comming Prowl for good measure. He was sure his attention deflectors were plenty to disguise himself, but he was also aware that overconfidence was often his downfall – so, he waited.
> 
> Once the guard was by, though, he shifted backward some onto his pedes again and commed Prowl. «Not as much as you’d like, I’m sure. That doesn’t mean I can’t focus on it now though. Most of my chimeracon project has wrapped up, I’m merely soldering loose wires, figuratively.»

Prowl

> Not Prowl’s favorite situation either. Especially now—he’d done everything in his power to tie up as many loose ends as he could before handing himself into Starscream’s custody, and here was a fresh new one, dangling in front of him, just threatening to get tangled on something and rip everything apart at the seams. This was dangerous.
> 
> Prowl’s gaze flickered down the hall at the guard, and then at the ground again. He’d switched his posture a bit, but he was sitting in essentially the same place as the last time the guard went by, so he just held still and waited as he passed. Hoping that Tarantulas’s attention deflectors worked as well as he claimed.
> 
> It seemed they did. Prowl waited until he was certain the guard’s present velocity would have carried him to the end of the hallway, and then glanced at Tarantulas again. «Never mind. I was just… curious.» For all of Mesothulas’s brilliance, Prowl was sure even he couldn’t truly uncombine a combiner.
> 
> «Your biomechanical alt-mode project?» He glanced over Tarantulas’s alien kibble again. «Is it… true organic flesh? Or something synthesized?» And despite himself, despite his situation, despite what a bad idea it was to keep talking and risk getting sucked in—he wanted to know. Once again, Mesothulas had done something amazing, something  _genius_ , and as much as it was visually repulsive it was even more intellectually fascinating. And Prowl wanted to know all about this new, horrid, naughty thing Mesothulas had presented him with. He always did.

Tarantulas

> Just curious? Prowl was always just curious, that’s how everything always started. Those words were a little flag for Tarantulas, signaling his next line of inquiry for sure. Besides, it wasn’t as if research into combiners wouldn’t benefit Tarantulas as well. Knowing more intimate details about Prowl, about his team, was always a plus. And science was all about hypotheses and observations – knowing more about combiners would assist in making more accurate hypotheses to act on.
> 
> Tarantulas allowed the conversation to move on. «Yes, that. The tissue isn’t taken from previous subjects, if that’s what you’re implying. It was a simple matter to make the proper matrices for enhanced totipotent cells; they fill in the structure quite nicely on their own with a little prompting from the right cytokines. That was something even the humans were attempting while I was there, it’s nothing fancy.» Although he most likely came off sounding dismissive or boastful, he was actually being fairly honest.
> 
> «The trick was making the organic forms malleable and resilient enough to undergo transformation. That, and mastering the mass displacement required to achieve the proper organic mode sizes. Most of my work in those realms was informed by my research on the Noamians and Pestrions – techno-organics, a few sectors away from Cybertron. That was a side-trip on my pilgrimage, so to speak, hyeh.»
> 
> A wave of his servo, just one in a series of dramatic gestures he’d been making throughout his chatter. «But I digress. It was a fun exercise, to say the least. I’ve had plenty enough test subjects to ensure the process works, and I’ve experimented with a wide variety of Earth animals. I could help you find one that suits you, if you’d be interested. Wait – no – not ideal. Combiner. Public figure. What a shame…»

Prowl

> «I’m not interested,» Prowl said; and then immediately corrected himself, «in changing my alt-mode.» He was interested in the process itself, yes, of course,  _always_  interested. He didn’t have the slightest clue what totipotent cells or cytokines were, and if Mesothulas wanted to spend two hours lecturing him about them Prowl would sit perfectly still and listen.
> 
> His optics grew brighter, darting over Tarantulas’s alien parts again. The initial horror had almost completely worn off; left behind was a keen, sharp curiosity. «Is it alive? Does it need to feed and respirate like organic flesh? If so, how do you nurture it in Cybertron’s atmosphere? Does it grow? Or rot? How integrated is it into your system, or does it just sit on top, like—like clothing?» He hesitated; and then, less eagerly, asked, «What test subjects?»

Tarantulas

> As much as Prowl would enjoy listening to Tarantulas speak, Tarantulas himself would love showing off the mechanics of his experiments (despite that “frisson of nerves” he mentioned to the other Prowl). Maybe later, when they had more time to chat, he could fill him in. There was so much Prowl could learn – the intricacies of biological systems mimicked the Specimen, after all, and the Specimen was what Prowl dealt with fundamentally.
> 
> Tarantulas could practically feel Prowl’s optics on him now, and reveled in the attention. Wherever Prowl’s gaze went, Tarantulas manipulated his biomechanical frame, giving Prowl the fullest example he possibly could. Stretches of his multiple legs, transforming the pedes to reveal small blasters, rippling the setae on his back, all the little things he could think of. This, this was what he lived for.
> 
> «Yes, it’s alive, but not in the same way that an Earth creature is alive, nor a Cybertronian. It metabolizes similarly to its model animal, but always with a mechanical twist – I added organelles that metabolize energon as well – Primus, but that was a wonderful cycle when I finally wrestled that quandary into submission. I can consume either energon or organic material for energy, but I’ve especially prepared samples of obtenteum for optimal functioning – it takes a lot less of it, of course.»
> 
> On and on he went – all the enthusiasm he’d been unable to share for the years apart from Prowl was spilling over, threatening to drown them both.
> 
> «It’s stable in Cybertron’s atmosphere for an infinite amount of time as far as I’ve determined, but I’ve only tested it in the field now for a few years. But, ah, I bolstered the cells with centrium to preserve the outer layer of the organic alt, it takes well to temperature and pressure differences.» A pause, a claw tip to his mandibles as he mumbled to himself, trying to remember the rest of the questions Prowl had asked him.
> 
> It only took a moment before his visor brightened again. «Grow! Rot! Neither, goodness that would be inconvenient. I nurture the basic body to maturity and hold it there as it’s incorporated into the frame, and it’s advanced enough that the decomposition process is nearly negligible. It doesn’t matter much to my alt in particular anyway, since I molt my outer layer routinely when I transform. Not always, but still. Having a chitin exoskeleton grants that sort of advantage.»
> 
> «That said, it’s not technically integrated into my – our – systems. It can be shed depending on the organism, but it’s a complicated and painful process, especially since I generally modify the mech’s original frame to fit the organism they’re taking after… which, ah, explains my own frame changes, as you can see.» Short and stocky to tall and lanky, that much was evident.
> 
> A laughing squint of his visor. «Always concerned for the test subjects, you are. They were consenting, I assure you. I found myself a patron of a group of mechs who… well. To put it simply, they required disguises, I required some heavy lifting, per se – it was a mutually beneficial relationship.»

Prowl

> Prowl watched every little motion with rapt attention, looking at how the joints bent, how the fleshy tips split open and slid shut, studying the pores at the bases of the fibers.
> 
> «Then you could hypothetically clone organics that could process energon?» It would be a terrible idea, of course—but it seemed possible. «What’s the conversion rate—how much organic matter does it take to equal the energy acquired from a single cube? I’m sure you’re familiar with the Decepticons’ pink alchemy process,» Prowl wouldn’t be surprised if Tarantulas had borrowed from it, «is it more conservative than that? What’s obtenteum? And centrium?» He’d unconsciously started leaning away from the wall, his feet scooting forward a bit to give him more room to lean toward Mesothulas.
> 
> How he had missed these conversations.
> 
> «If you’re shedding, then surely you need to regularly generate a fresh layer of flesh? Does  _that_  require consuming organic matter, or do you synthesize new layers and put them on, or…?» He couldn’t guess, the possibilities were endless. «What of injuries—does it self-repair, or not, since it isn’t capable of other growth?»
> 
> A small tilt of his helm. «They required disguises. On Earth.» The Autobots had never used animal disguises like this. The Decepticons, however, had quite a bit of experience in creating organic clones with Cybertronian programming inside. Dubiously, Prowl asked, «What group?»

Tarantulas

> As Prowl leaned in, so did Tarantulas, caught up in the interaction and somehow physically drawn to Prowl’s thirst for information. He never stayed in one place, though, balancing on one leg or the other, leaning back to allow his arms room to gesture.
> 
> A little titter passed over the commlink. «Yes, that seems plausible. Why we would want to waste energon on organics would be beyond me, though.»
> 
> «The conversion rate depends on the model animal and the type of organic matter ingested, but generally it’s somewhere around 10 kilograms per cube, not very efficient. Better than pink alchemy though,  _anything_  could be more elegant than that.» Scoff scoff. «For Primus’ sakes, I heard tell that Hun-Grrr was able to implement pink alchemy in a colony somewhere, if that tells you anything. The more basic the model, the less attention to streamlining the process, the less output you get.»
> 
> Tarantulas’ visor brightened. «Obtenteum! You’ve heard of Ore-13, Ultra-Energon, how could you not. I refined and tweaked it to my tastes, one of my pet projects while I was on Earth. Obtenteum, to obtain what I want, you see? It fuels the chimeracon body best. I don’t have much in quantity, but what I lack therein, it makes up for in quality. The conversion rate is one terth to a cube. One terth!» Tarantulas was positively glowing at this point, servos tapping together in front of his chest. «Centrium? Molecular complex found in Cybertronian sentio metallico. It’s easy enough to mimic in lab, really.»
> 
> Another titter of silent laughter. «No no, it’s not a skin to be worn. I should edit myself – I suppose in that sense the organic layers do grow per se, but only to reproduce itself in a natural manner, not to enlarge in size or develop in a particular way. That means I can self-repair, yes, regrow limbs, that sort of thing. Injury triggers a particular endocrine response that pulls the cells out of G-zero, it’s quite ingenious how organics work sometimes!»
> 
> «Consuming organic matter – that’s a silly question though, I thought you’d intuit – oh! But you don’t know, my apologies. One of the tweaks of obtenteum is that it contains all the elements required for organic life in easily digestible form. Organic matter becomes irrelevant, a backup mechanism.»
> 
> Now Tarantulas started to slow down a little, choose his words wisely, although he didn’t necessarily worry about what he was saying. The other Prowl took the news fairly well, after all. «Yes, they dubbed themselves Mayhem. A crossfaction anarchist group, lovely handful of mechs.» Sarcasm tinged the phrase. «Nothing you ought to worry yourself over, though – small fry, as the humans put it.»
> 
> That was probably a stupid thing to say – Prowl would likely worry even more. Alas, but the words were already transmitted across comm.

Prowl

> «We wouldn’t, of course. I’m merely asking hypothetically. It’s a remarkable possibility—albeit one I see no practical use for.» Yet.  _Yet_.
> 
> «Not very efficient? Ten kilograms per cube is the most effective biomatter-to-energon conversion rate I’ve ever heard of. That’s…» He shook his head. It wouldn’t do to gush. «He did. Temptoria. There’s some evidence that Hun-Grrr is actually not quite as stupid as his general behavior would suggest; but yes, I see your point.»
> 
> He’d  _refined_  Ultra-Energon—an already ridiculously powerful energon ore. At Tarantulas’s excitement, though—one terth to a cube—Prowl had to smirk. «You’re going to love what we just brought home on the  _Lost Light_.»
> 
> Centrium. His optics unfocused a moment as he combed his mind, searching the stray scraps of data that came in through Devastator, seeing if the molecular composition of that one was stored somewhere in it—he seemed to pick up a disproportionate amount of data from Mixmaster. But no, he didn’t recognize it.
> 
> He refocused at Mesothulas’s soundless laugh, listening to his explanation. A layer of flesh that regrew itself, a strain of energon modified to serve as both an ultra-powerful fuel for Cybertronians AND as the raw building blocks for organic life… Completely, absurdly, unnecessarily brilliant.
> 
> Prowl grimaced. «Anarchists? You fell in with  _anarchists?_ » Of all the vile things. «Well, at some point, give me what data you have on them—small fry or not, they ought to be monitored.» They probably WERE essentially harmless, even with the benefit of Mesothulas’s weaponry; the thing about anarchists was, if they were any good at being what they claimed to be, they were always terribly disorganized. But he wasn’t going to ignore them and discover too late he was wrong. Besides, the way things were going on Earth, Prowl might even be able to make them into an asset.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ whole frame tingled slightly with excitement – these kinds of conversations always gave him a sort of scientist’s high, and the indirect praise from Prowl was more than he could have asked for. As much as he’d held a grudge against Prowl for all he’d done, it didn’t stop him from falling into old habits. It was just so much easier than holding onto any sort of hatred. Besides, he could never really hate Prowl. His Prowl. Maybe not the original Prowl, but still – Prowl.
> 
> «What in Primus’ name could you possibly have brought back?» Tarantulas asked eagerly, more a question of surprise than incredulity. «You can’t leave me hanging, come now.»
> 
> Aha, yes, Mayhem. Well, he managed to escape trying to explain things too thoroughly this time. He didn’t actually know if Mayhem existed in this universe – should have done a little more research before coming this far, apparently.
> 
> «Desperate times call for desperate measures, Prowl. But yes, I’ll prepare a data packet for you. I’m not working with them anymore though, so I’m afraid you won’t have the latest information.»

Prowl

> It  _was_  easy—to talk like they always had, to feed off of each other, Mesothulas proudly showing off what he’d done as Prowl feverishly brainstormed where they could take that creation next…
> 
> Rules. He needed rules. He needed boundaries—before he fell into his old patterns again. Because he was already talking to Mesothulas like nothing had ever happened between them. And that was dangerous.
> 
> «A formula to extend energon—one cube into three  _thousand_.» He searched his comm records for the data dump—it was lucky he’d saved this broadcast before he was locked up and his contact with the outside world was cut off—and pinged over the file to Tarantulas’s comm. «As of three weeks ago, it’s been released into the public domain; if Starscream has a quarter of a brain, he’ll be quickly getting to work creating facilities to synthesize more energon with this formula. I’m sure you can find a practical application for this in your own work?» Prowl told himself he wasn’t crossing any lines. It  _was_  in the public domain. Tarantulas  _would_  have found out about it soon enough and utilized it himself. This way, at least he’d associate it with Prowl having given it to him.
> 
> «I’ll take what you have. Even out-of-date information is useful.»

Tarantulas

> How? How had he not heard of this? Admittedly he’d been busy with his own research and fine-tuning the bridge between ‘verses, but still. One cube into three  _thousand_?
> 
> Tarantulas’ visor glazed over for a moment while he inspected the data, servos stilled in midair. «I can’t believe… Something has to be… There has to be some sort of downfall to this, this dilution isn’t something one can achieve without a price. Refining something is difficult but fairly harmless to the product, but on the other hand, dilution…»
> 
> With a little flicker, his visor returned to normal luminosity, arms relaxing and starting to fiddle about again. «I’ll do a thorough investigation into the formula, but let it be known that I warned you something might go wrong with its widespread usage.» Admittedly his wariness might be entirely misplaced, but something this useful was too good to be true. Besides, he didn’t even know who –
> 
> «Wait – you didn’t say where you got this data from.» The question was, of course, embedded in the statement.

Prowl

> The formula had slipped under quite a few radars. It had been publicly released by Rodimus. To kick off a party. The latter points fairly thoroughly distracted everyone from the former. Which said something about Cybertron’s priorities.
> 
> «I would not be the slightest bit surprised if there are disadvantages. It has seen limited usage by a small group, but no mass usage. If there are downsides, I trust you’ll be able to pick them up. However, the source is—on  _this_  matter, at least—very reliable.»
> 
> He hesitated, a quick calculation, before speaking. «I tell you this only because I trust you won’t tell anyone else.» He doubted Tarantulas had anyone else he could tell if he wanted to. «The  _Lost Light_  accidentally landed itself in a parallel universe, in which the war was never fought and history progressed quite differently. The formula was invented by the very same mech who created Ultra-Energon.»

Tarantulas

> «Hmm. I do wish there was more data on the small group effects. Likely there were none, but still. Data is data.» An almost-silent chitter of his chelicerae as he thought.
> 
> Then Prowl dropped a little metaphorical bomb. Well then, that was…. convenient, but also highly confusing. Prowl was aware of the multiverse, or at least one other verse, so it would be easier to explain things eventually – but how had the Lost Light managed to universe-hop on their own?
> 
> «A parallel universe. Hhmn.» As if it were a thought he’d had in passing before. «That’s… Shockwave, Slag. That – that is a reliable source. I never found anything of the sort in his notes, I… How things must have progressed… Maybe something was different with their energon? We’ll just…»
> 
> As per usual when he was thinking deeply, Tarantulas lapsed into silence, leaving Prowl out in the cold for a moment. But oh, there was so much to process. Shockwave, in a warless universe, created a formula for diluting a cube into three thousand. The Lost Light, with Prowl on it, had somehow dipped into that universe and come back none the worse for wear (as far as Tarantulas was concerned). What had Cybertron looked like there, he wondered? And what was Shockwave like, unencumbered (or uninspired) by war? Was there an implied energon crisis, then?
> 
> And how much inter-universal travel was going on, anyway? What had Tarantulas just been drawn into, on a grander scale?
> 
> Tarantulas’ spider optics glittered intently. «Tell me more, Prowl. I need more data.»

Prowl

> «Different priorities. At some point, he came to his senses and ceased pursuit of his Dark Cybertron project, and turned his attention toward methods of addressing the energon crisis without destroying the rest of the universe in the process. Necessity-driven invention.» As was so often the case.
> 
> Hesitantly, Prowl turned his gaze to Mesothulas’s face, trying to read it and the thoughts underneath. And—as usual—Prowl was completely and utterly useless at attempting to decipher facial expressions. What he wouldn’t give right now to have a line hooked into Mesothulas’s mind right now… (He didn’t noticed he’d leaned closer again.)
> 
> «Where do you want me to start?»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh. “Came to his senses,” huh?»
> 
> Tarantulas couldn’t decide if he’d prefer the Shockwave from his verse, from Prowl’s verse, or this other strange new one. Chances were that non-war Shockwave hadn’t developed the same repertoire of skills as in-war Shockwave. Maybe if Tarantulas managed to research the non-war side, he could discover things beyond the 1/3000 conversion that in-war Shockwave hadn’t dreamed up, though…
> 
> Admittedly even if Prowl were decent at reading facial expressions, he’d still have a hard time with Tarantulas’ arachnoid features. Hardline would definitely be more advantageous. That didn’t seem to be something that was about to happen here, though.
> 
> One clue Prowl might have had an easier time reading was the way Tarantulas ever-so-slightly pulled back from the Autobot’s unconscious approach. At a certain point, eagerness progressed into being overly close, and although Tarantulas was too oblivious generally to notice the difference, this? This was Prowl, Prowl had boundaries, Prowl was reserved, this wasn’t normal. Not  _abnormal_  per se, but still.
> 
> Once Prowl asked, Tarantulas’ train of thought derailed, and the stream of questions began pouring forth. «I – So. Parallel universe. How did you get there? What was different? Scientifically, I mean. And socially, politically, the other circumstances matter too I suppose. And Shockwave, how was he different? He must have been, to have altered his path so significantly, I mean. Hyeh. Dark Cybetron isn’t something you just  _give up_  on.»
> 
> «And now, how are you here now? How did you get back? Have you had a physical since you came back? Noticed anything strange? Tried the diluted energon?»

Prowl

> «Surely even you must agree that collapsing all of space and time isn’t very sensible.» And if he didn’t agree… Well. Then he was one more threat Prowl had to look out for.
> 
> _Mesothulas_  retreating from  _Prowl_. The peculiarity of the gesture was enough to make Prowl freeze, rigid with confusion as he processed the implications; and then, as he realized what he was doing, he shot upright, doors slapping against the wall as his back pressed flat against it again. He was getting too close, too fast. In more ways than just physical.
> 
> And with the data overload of new information clearing out of his head, his prior concerns came crashing back in. Fears about his ability to resist the draw of what Tarantulas offered him (a fear that was obviously COMPLETELY valid), and worries that this might yet be a trap, or that Tarantulas was working for someone else. If he  _was_  Starscream’s agent now… the things Prowl had almost told him—the things Prowl had  _already_ told him…
> 
> «I—later.» He looked away, glancing through the force field and down the hall to check for a guard, and his gaze stayed there. «This is incredibly sensitive information. I shouldn’t discuss it in the heart of Starscream’s dungeon, even over comms.»

Tarantulas

> Thankfully for Prowl, Tarantulas  _did_  agree that collapsing spacetime was foolish, but that was the last thing on his mind at the moment.
> 
> The sound of Prowl hitting the wall behind him was an almost painful one, not viscerally, but emotionally. Tarantulas had miscalculated, must have done something wrong. That thin ice? It was thinner. He could feel the confidence that had swelled in him start to slip away.
> 
> At the same time, though, it took everything in his power not to grasp Prowl’s shoulders and shake him to his senses. On the verge of divulging valuable information, Prowl thought it fair to suddenly pull back, as if baiting Tarantulas, stringing him along? No. Tarantulas had come this far, had won Prowl over, and he wasn’t going to allow Prowl to set the rules on his own.
> 
> «Later?  **Later?**  You can’t possibly be –» An almost audible scoff, Tarantulas’ accessory limbs flexing in irritation. «I’ll admit you’ve been right on occasion, but you’re far too paranoid for your own good, Prowl, to the point of an abused trope. This isn’t about security, is it. This is about your sense of control. You see fit to indulge me when I ramble, but you’re too fearful to disclose anything yourself, not even to the mech who came and offered his life to the very one who attempted to  _murder_  him. Nonono, that would be too much to give, too much trust to place, not even – I –»
> 
> Kibble puffed out, shoulders stiffening, Tarantulas used a tremendous amount of inner strength to reign himself back in. Oh, how his emotionality always got him into trouble. He wouldn’t allow himself to screw this one up, he couldn’t. No yelling, no violence, no accusations, he had to control himself. He couldn’t push Prowl a single millimeter away, or he’d lose him, and Tarantulas couldn’t bear to have that happen again.

Prowl

> Prowl’s expression and resolve stiffened in the face of Tarantulas’s outrage. He was correct, of course. Prowl was hypocritical. Willing to accept intel when it benefitted him, unwilling to share it if it endangered him. Sometimes hypocrisy was necessary.
> 
> Firmly, Prowl said, «Besides Starscream, the fact that I attempted to murder you is the other half of why I can’t afford to trust you with too much, too soon.  _Yes_ , it’s unfair; but that doesn’t make it untrue.» He couldn’t give Tarantulas the unexpurgated truth—but, at the very least, he owed him a little bit of honesty. «I have been betrayed worse by people I trusted less. I will not take unnecessary risks.»
> 
> But he’d already taken a risk. He’d told Tarantulas that the formula had been found in another universe. That was something he shouldn’t have said—something that could be disastrous if the intel reached Starscream. He’d slipped.
> 
> Prowl could still turn it to his advantage; he could treat it like a test. See if that information made it into Starscream’s hands—Rattrap would be able to report on that—and if it did, Prowl would know he couldn’t trust Tarantulas.
> 
> In the meantime? … Prowl had already said something he shouldn’t. Were _all_  the questions Mesothulas had asked sensitive? Were there ones that could be answered without making things worse? «… Shockwave, to my knowledge, never underwent shadowplay—or else had someone to help him reverse the effects. I can’t tell you more about him than that; I never interacted with him personally.» He’d gone out of his way to avoid dealing with Shockwave. «I’ve had a physical, yes; but from another mech who visited the same universe, so I don’t know if they could have detected whatever you’re expecting to find. I’ve noticed nothing strange. I tried the diluted energon once; it tasted slightly off from regular single-filtered midgrade, but I couldn’t tell you exactly how. That’s all I can offer you here.»

Tarantulas

> The honesty in Prowl’s response was appreciated, but it still had Tarantulas prickly and strangely giggly, as if something Prowl said had been funny. Better to act amused than aggressive, he supposed. One strange emotion could cover another. At the very least, he’d be unreadable to Prowl.
> 
> Tarantulas took note of the questions Prowl did and notably didn’t answer. Shockwave, either untouched or unshadowplayed. A physical, but not thorough enough. A funny taste, but nothing other than qualitative data. Nothing about how they came and went to the other universe, no details on the ‘verse itself – the most important parts, of course. Tarantulas bruxed his chelicerae.
> 
> «There, there we go, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? I don’t suppose I’m allowed to ask any further questions though. Primus forbid.» A wry tilt of his helm.
> 
> What now? He couldn’t get what he wanted, Prowl had seemingly shut down for the foreseeable future. Tarantulas wasn’t sure how much more he wanted to give Prowl in return for nothing, if only out of spite toward the Autobot. Maybe it might be best to feign control and cut things off for now. It might make Prowl react and pull him back in, after all.
> 
> Tarantulas began to straighten up. «I, ah. Hyeh. If there’s nothing else, maybe I should be on my way.»

Prowl

> Prowl knew plenty of people who laughed when they were mad; he didn’t expect Mesothulas to be anything but upset.
> 
> Of course. Weren’t the important questions always the least likely to get easy answers? «You can ask them. I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer any of them.»
> 
> A flicker of disappointment; it, too, was quickly hid behind a neutral expression. Tarantulas got what he came for. Of course he was ready to leave if Prowl wasn’t going to offer him anything else. «I take it you’ll be deciding when our next meeting is?» Such a reversal from their previous status quo. «I assume I’m not yet at liberty to receive the coordinates to your new lab.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas stood there for a moment, wavering, trying to think if there were any straightforward questions he could use to pry more details out of Prowl. Oh, how he’d love any reason to stick around longer – but then again he had a feeling all it would do would put things out of balance. By Primus, he wanted Prowl to  **trust**  him again, damnit. Not pushing him might help in making that happen.
> 
> «It’s probably best not to. Ask questions, I mean. Scientific curiosity is insatiable, after all.» Eight small optics winking. «But yes, I, ah, I’ll come find you. You’re not terribly hard to track down, you know. Simpler for you to lead your life without concern than go out of your way to meet little old me anywhere.» …Especially on a different planet in a different universe.
> 
> Even though Tarantulas was now standing and ready to transform, leaving Prowl was harder than he thought it’d be. Visor slightly squinting as he gazed down, he grasped at straws for any reason to delay departure, but he found none.
> 
> He managed to make himself transform in a swift flurry of limbs, leaving an oversized tarantula where a mech had been. Back on Prowl’s level again, he found he couldn’t help himself – he crawled forward and put his front legs and pedipalps on Prowl’s knees, keen optics boring into Prowl’s.

Prowl

> «Yes. I suppose so.» Part of him was disappointed. He wanted to be asked questions, even as much as he knew that he probably wouldn’t be able to answer them. «I—want to know where your new lab is. Not yet—I wouldn’t expect you to tell me yet—but… someday. When  _you_  can trust  _me_  with it.» Tarantulas might have been the one who was frustrated with Prowl’s secretiveness, but it was obvious that the distrust went both ways. And Prowl didn’t blame him for that.
> 
> He glanced at Tarantulas again as he transformed, watching as separated bits of flesh slid together into an indistinguishable solid—no seams, no cracks, all perfect and neat. His initial horror was gone. Now it was just… fascination. He was slightly tempted to ask Tarantulas to transform again, just so he could watch—
> 
> _Oh._
> 
> Prowl held perfectly still, vents stuttering. How… strange. He could feel each individual fiber brushing against his armor. Even just from that light touch, Tarantulas’s outer layer felt like it was something delicate, and Prowl was reminded keenly of how easily things broke on Earth. This creature didn’t have any resemblance to Mesothulas.
> 
> But he  _was_  Mesothulas. And Prowl’s spark spun just a little bit faster.
> 
> Tentatively, he stretched out his hand, to brush two fingers lightly over Tarantulas’s sternum, in the center where all his legs met.

Tarantulas

> «Someday.» Trust. Everything boiled down to trust, it seemed. How did one rebuild trust after all that they’d been through? All that they’d done, that Prowl had done? Not that Tarantulas was without blame or suspicion, but by Primus, he hadn’t exiled anyone into their own sensory prison.
> 
> There was a certain satisfaction in hearing those vents stutter as Tarantulas perched tentatively on Prowl’s knees. Tarantulas could feel the warmth in the metal beneath his pedes, the strange tingle of Prowl’s field on his sensitive organic outer layer. Despite what Prowl might think, Tarantulas didn’t feel delicate. He felt… he felt  _powerful_ , somehow. This form was tangible evidence of all he’d been working on, hundreds of small discoveries and developments sewn into a cohesive alt mode that surpassed what any beastformer could dream of. And here he was, sharing it with Prowl, proudly displaying his work like he always did, greedily absorbing the unspoken praise and awe.
> 
> The two digits that made contact with his sternum induced an automatic recoil, limbs stiffening and carapace arching back – his body was ever-so-conscious of how vulnerable that apex of joints was. The flinch was momentary, though. Higher brain module functioning overrode instinct, and Tarantulas relaxed.
> 
> So strange. He’d… he’d never interacted with anyone like this, not in this form. There hadn’t been anyone who was curious or comfortable enough to reach out so carefully, so deliberately. Definitely strange, but not unpleasant.
> 
> Something compelled him to mass shift down, but he didn’t give into the impulse just yet. Let Prowl explore how he liked. Tarantulas didn’t mind one bit.

Prowl

> Someday. Someday was good enough for Prowl. He intended to earn his right to that trust—as Mesothulas would have to earn the same right himself.
> 
> Prowl’s hand jerked back when Tarantulas recoiled. He curled his fingers in and pressed them against his calf. He’d crossed a line. He didn’t know what it was—if it was something to do with Tarantulas’s alt-mode, or maybe something to do with their past—but he’d crossed it and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
> 
> He didn’t verbally apologize for the slip. But the way he pulled his hands closer and looked away from Tarantulas should say it all the same.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas felt a twinge of frustration at Prowl’s reticence. He was clearly curious, he should just give in to that, shouldn’t he? But no, that wasn’t Prowl. He always overthought things, for better or worse. That was what held him back from being what Mesothulas was – what Tarantulas was.
> 
> Well, might as well mass shift after all. Climbing up onto Prowl’s knee properly, Tarantulas shrunk down to the size of his palm and laid flat on the armor there. Almost absentmindedly he began threading out silk.
> 
> «You have my comm.»

Prowl

> He hadn’t driven Tarantulas off, at least—if he was willing to shrink down to an even more vulnerable size, perch on Prowl, and… «… What in the world are you doing?» Was that insect poop?
> 
> «And you have mine. Although it won’t be very useful from outside of the prison—transmissions are blocked.» He paused. «… Unless you can do something about that?»

Tarantulas

> It took Tarantulas a moment to realize what Prowl was talking about. A little laugh came down the comm line as he spooled out more silk and began making a wicked pattern on Prowl’s knee. «You haven’t seen the Earth creatures do this before? It’s silk, used to weave webs and line nests, among other things. It’s quite a miraculous little evolution of theirs, highly durable. Although it had room for improvement, of course.»
> 
> A klik of thought, and Tarantulas responded. «Yes, I could do something about that.» Or rather, Hubcap's brain module could. «I trust you won’t be in here long though, will you?»

Prowl

> Prowl leaned closer, studying the design. «I’ve heard humans mention spider webs. I’ve never seen one in person, though.» If they looked anything like this, they’d probably been far too small and delicate for Prowl to notice. «And I’m sure you’re already hard at work improving it.»
> 
> A thin smile. Of course he could. «I certainly don’t intend to. But not every plan works out perfectly. It doesn’t hurt to have backup plans.» Plans plural. Naturally.

Tarantulas

> «Well, here you have it.» Tarantulas stepped back slightly to give Prowl more room to see the little pattern of silk he’d fashioned. «Tarantulas don’t generally make webs, but I’d be quite the useless spider if I couldn’t do so myself. I’m still working on the mechanics. As for the silk, I’m already satisfied with that.» A smug little glow to his tiny optics, easy to miss.
> 
> Tarantulas gave a little spider nod. «Very well then. I’ll try to keep lines open. You should be able to reach me once you’re liberated, though.»
> 
> And with that, Tarantulas hopped the short distance onto Prowl’s shoulder and skittered around there for a moment before beginning his ascent up the wall.
> 
> «Don’t get up to too much trouble, Prowl. And don’t forget, you’re needed. Ostaros and I shall wait.»

Prowl

> «You’re getting very into your disguise.» It was weird. Weird and familiar. Of course Mesothulas would pick up a bizarre alien alt-mode, and then want to learn everything he could about being the best alien possible. He had never done anything half-heartedly in his life.
> 
> Prowl held perfectly still, even pausing the fans around his processor, as Mesothulas hopped up onto his shoulder. He didn’t breathe again until after Mesothulas had moved onto the wall.
> 
> «I’m always needed.» He leaned forward slightly, his dully glowing light bar watching as Tarantulas climbed. (Prowl wondered if he still had his magna clamps, or if the ability was granted by his alt-mode.) «You know where to find me.»
> 
> A pause; and then, one last, small, unnecessary risk—not a professional one, but a personal one. «I’m glad you’re alive.» Afraid, but glad.

Tarantulas

> «Not a disguise. It’s  _me_  now, Prowl.» Tap tap tap, silent coordinated footsteps rippling up the wall. He shrunk as he went. And yes, he had those magna clamps still – tarantula’s sticky clawed feet weren’t quite satisfactory enough for him.
> 
> There was only silence from Tarantulas, until Prowl uttered those last few words across the comm. Physically he paused, one leg partially extended.
> 
> «As am I. Hyeh. You’re welcome.»
> 
> And then he was gone.

Prowl

> «… Of course.» Nothing about the changes Tarantulas had made seemed like those of a temporary alt-mode to hide among aliens. Not after the work he’d put into it. This  _was_  him. Prowl was going to miss his tires.
> 
> But—he mused to himself, watching Tarantulas fluidly shrinking without missing a step—this one, he could get used to watching.
> 
> And then Prowl was alone. He watched the shadows until he was sure Tarantulas was gone; and then sat up straight again, tapped his head against the cell wall, and dimmed his optics.
> 
> This was a tragedy waiting to happen. One of them was going to go too far again, and innocents were going to suffer for it, and Prowl should be getting to work on finding a way to  _crush this completely_  before he got in too deep…
> 
> … No. Things were changing.  _He_  was changing. He was allied with a Soundwave; he was about to go to work for Starscream. The war was over. Maybe the time had come, at last, when he didn’t have to deal with every threat by destroying it.
> 
> He had calculations to run. Possibilities to consider. And if his fans were running higher than they should be the next time the guard walked by, he could say it was because the energy shield made his cell so hot.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas brings Prowl a gift; they barter for information; something unexpected brings them closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've decided to keep posting RP snippets on here! Hopefully they'll be continuous enough to make sense.
> 
> Between this chapter and the last: Tarantulas hacks Prowl's communication records and starts contacting Prowl's associates for information. One of these associates is a multiversal Soundwave. Prowl and Soundwave have a secret comm-versation at the same time; Soundwave lets Prowl listen in on Tarantulas. At the end of the conversation, Soundwave plants the idea that Tarantulas should bring Prowl some magnets while he's still in jail, as a gift.

Tarantulas

> Magnets. What kind of magnets should he get? Where should he get them from? This had taken on the air of a quest now, a quest Tarantulas certainly didn’t understand but somehow held significant meaning. 
> 
> He took his time contemplating the riddle, not wanting to rush Prowl right away for fear of frightening him - of course Prowl would anticipate how eager he was to see him again, but Tarantulas had to retain some sense of dignity in the matter.
> 
> He ended up snatching a handful of [these](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.supramagnets.com%2Fcubes%2F26-ndfeb-5-n-magnets-0094922873316.html&t=MjA1ODhkNmM2ZDNkZjI1YTg3MTdhZDYyZTM4M2FkNTI1Y2M3ZDE5OSwwbGFWWGczWQ%3D%3D) in a variety of colors and carefully tucked them away in his subspace. As a belated thought, he left a few credit chits in their place, knowing Prowl would be disappointed in him if he hadn’t done so. He begrudged the sacrifice, but admittedly he could make up the lost shanix in no time if he absolutely needed to.
> 
> Approaching the jail cell in the same fashion as he had the last time, Tarantulas snuck through the energy field and dropped to the floor, transforming and mass shifting on the way down. Still a dramatic entrance, but he made sure to momentarily drop his attention deflectors to clue Prowl in on his presence.
> 
> «You really oughtn’t  _snoop_ on other people’s conversations, Prowl. It’s generally considered rude, last time I checked.» A wry squint of his visor.

Prowl

> Prowl’s back hurt. This in and of itself was hardly a surprise; he’d been getting a lot of backaches since his involuntary reformat into a combiner component. But now, having sent over a day hunched up on the floor against a wall, it was a screaming pain. He hadn’t even relocated to the berth when he slept; it was on the wall that couldn’t see the entrance, Prowl would have less warning when someone came for him. So he’d slept in the same position he spent the day sitting: on the floor, back against the wall. And his back hated him for it. On the bright side, he’d almost forgotten how hot his cell was.
> 
> An extra jolt of pain shot up his neck when glanced up at a flicker of motion. He winced, then turned down his pain sensors. He needed to be able to focus on this conversation.
> 
> He’d expected Mesothulas to arrive sooner, and wondered what had delayed him—work? A long transit? The need to pick up a gift? An affectation of disinterest? He’d have to compare Mesothulas’s behavior on future visits to tell for sure.
> 
> «Almost, but not quite, as rude as monitoring someone’s comm calls so you can go behind his back to talk to his associate without telling him,» Prowl replied. «Regardless, you can hardly hold  _me_  responsible if I commed an ally and he happened to mention you were on another line.»
> 
> Prowl’s expression is neutral, and his tone is professional and bland—as it should have been last time. The first time Mesothulas, Prowl had been taken by surprise. This time, he’d been able to prepare himself. He was under control.

Tarantulas

> After a brief moment of standing Tarantulas crouched down near Prowl, apparently getting comfortable for a conversation that’d last more than a few minutes. Maybe that was presumptuous, but given the way things had gone last time and what had happened since then, they’d probably spend plenty of time dancing around one subject or another.
> 
> Highly attentive toward Prowl, Tarantulas noticed the wince. He’d have to remember to ask about that later.
> 
> «And why should I not want to gather as much information on the situation as possible through said associates? Forgive me my curiosity, I’ve been away for  _quite_  some time.» Dodge the implications of having tracked Prowl’s comm records, that’s right.
> 
> «Soundwave seems like an… unlikely ally, I must admit. Mind telling me how  _that_ alliance was struck?»

Prowl

> «Slowly, on a foundation of mutual trust, which involved not digging into each other’s comms without permission.» Dodge all you like, Mesothulas; that won’t make Prowl forget it happened.
> 
> It could hardly escape Prowl’s notice that Mesothulas was making himself comfortable. Apparently, he planned on staying for a while. Prowl couldn’t decide whether the tangled emotion knotting up his fuel tank leaned closer to excitement or dread. «Next guard circuit is in two minutes.»

Tarantulas

> There was a small glint of irritation in Tarantulas’ visor for a moment. Trust. Ugh. That was something he apparently wasn’t very good at building, but something he desperately needed at the moment. He’d have to work on that.
> 
> «I wouldn’t put it past the mech, though.» Soundwave did seem a little sketchy, at least in Tarantulas’ optics.
> 
> The spiderformer gave a shrug of a fuzzy shoulder at the mention of guards. «Hardly worth noting. That seems more like your problem than mine - make sure not to look suspicious, will you?”
> 
> A good moment to pull out the magnets, though, so the guards wouldn’t notice. «Ah! Before I forget, though. I have a present for you, Prowl. Come now, offline your optics and put out your hands~»

Prowl

> Prowl missed the glint—he was, once again, determinedly avoiding optic contact. His gaze was fixed on the floor, between their feet, except during the rare moments that Mesothulas’s wild gestures or twitching limbs caught Prowl’s peripheral vision and dragged his gaze upward. But always only for a moment.
> 
> «No, I wouldn’t put it past him either. And yet, he managed to resist the urge.» Hint, hint.
> 
> Prowl snorted. «I’ll try my best,» he said dryly. «I didn’t want you to be caught by surprise.» It was a slim possibility, but one that would be catastrophic for both of them. Even with attention deflectors, the risk of being caught was great enough that, in truth, Mesothulas shouldn’t be here at all; but Prowl doubted Mesothulas would stay away even if Prowl asked. (He viciously boxed away the part of himself that didn’t  _want_  Mesothulas to stay away. That part of him wasn’t going to be in control. Not this time.)
> 
> Prowl actually looked Mesothulas in the face, long enough to give him a skeptical glance. He wasn’t surprised at the offer of a gift—after all, he was fairly certain he knew what it was going to be—but he didn’t trust the insistence that he temporarily blind himself. Even if it was probably no more than a bit of theatricality, Prowl wasn’t willing to take that chance.
> 
> He held out his hands. «If you didn’t want me to see the gift, you should have put it in something.» He wasn’t turning off his optics.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is pointedly ignoring that hint, Prowl. Probably best for both of them if they just went on with the conversation, after all.
> 
> «I’d hardly be caught by surprise. My tactile vibratory sensors are highly enhanced in this form, I’d be able to tell they were coming from down the hall without trying.» He wasn’t as animated about explaining the details of his alt mode as he’d been last time - subconsciously he was mirroring Prowl’s controlled air, although not as effectively.
> 
> If Tarantulas could frown, he’d be doing so at the moment - a pretty petulant little pout, as a matter of fact. «Aww, don’t ruin the fun, Prowl. I didn’t have time to wrap it.» A pause, then, «Hyeh, don’t make me cover your optics for you.»
> 
> A bit of fumbling around in his subspace anyway before he brought ought the magnets, the colorful little cubes mostly hidden in his claw. He didn’t follow up on the threat of covering Prowl’s optics, instead opting to cover the magnets with his servos until he’d fully shaken them into Prowl’s waiting hands with a series of tiny tink-zink-tinks. «There we are. As suggested by Soundwave.»
> 
> There were eight of them - red, orange, yellow, green, aqua, blue, purple, and pink. Tarantulas had deliberately chosen the number and colors. They glowed slightly in Prowl’s hands, that strange metallic glaze reflecting the colors of the others next to it. 
> 
> Also, if Prowl had been paying enough attention, he’d notice that they’d stuck to Tarantulas’ claw. Yes, there was metal underneath the organic layer. 

Prowl

> That’s fine. Prowl made his point. Mesothulas knows where he stands.
> 
> «… They’re that sensitive?» It sounded like sensory hell. No wonder he’d flinched away when Prowl had touched him. «Is there any way to turn down the tactile input from your organic components?»
> 
> Prowl just kept waiting, hands outstretched, ignoring the threat. He couldn’t tell if it was sincere or a joke, but when they were still trying to figure out where they stood with each other, he couldn’t afford to teach Mesothulas that he would back down at any threat of minor violence.
> 
> Despite himself, though, his optics lit up the moment he felt the tug of a magnetic field against his fingers; for the briefest moment, less than a second, utter delight flickered across his face. Then it was gone again.
> 
> “Neodymium,” he commented. It was going to be the last comment he made for a while. Now he pulled his hands close to his bumper, and all his attention pulled in with them: he was fixated on the eight new toys he tumbled and manipulated between his fingers.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s flutter of reaction caught Tarantulas completely off guard, clawed servos still hanging in the air between them in a kind of adoring shock. Primus, but Tarantulas wished he could have had a snapshot of the expression on Prowl’s face just then. Precious. Perfect.
> 
> Once he’d recovered himself, he gave a little chuff-laugh over the comm. Of course Prowl would know what the magnets were made of immediately. Tarantulas didn’t say anything in return though, just watching Prowl manipulate the miniature bits for a while. It was so pure, in a way he could never have expected.
> 
> Eventually he spoke up to answer Prowl’s first question. «Ah, of course I can turn the sensors down. They’re integrated into my technological systems, it’s no difficulty. Generally I have an algorithm going to make sure I detect unusual vibrations though.:

Prowl

> «Hm?» Prowl registered the sounds coming over the comm, but engrossed as he was in his gift, it took him several more seconds to comprehend the words themselves. «… Mm.» Noted. He’d respond properly when he was done.
> 
> He didn’t drag himself back to the present until a timer went off in his mind; fifteen seconds until the guard passed through. He closed his hands around the magnets and moved his gaze to the floor again.

Tarantulas

> Aware that he wasn’t going to get much more of a response from Prowl, Tarantulas waited, still watching the fixation the other mech had on those magnets. Boy, he was sure glad Soundwave had sent him with them, even though it’d sounded stupid to begin with.
> 
> Then the guard stepped into the hallway and passed by. Like last time, Tarantulas merely sat there motionless and almost bored while the guard’s optics saw right through him. Prowl’s worries were for naught.
> 
> Once the guard was gone, Tarantulas perked up slightly, leaning forward, still curious about what had just happened.
> 
> «I don’t… I don’t recall you having this sort of a fascination before. What is it about the magnets that attracts you so?» A klik before he realized his own joke, then a “hyeh.”

Prowl

> Mesothulas… didn’t recall?
> 
> A moment of silence.
> 
> Then Prowl’s processor fans clicked on.
> 
> He hadn’t hidden his collection from Mesothulas. He’d never  _flaunted_  it, no—but he’d taken it out more than a couple of times. When Mesothulas was asleep and Prowl needed to fill his mind. When Prowl was having doubts and needed something to focus him. The way Mesothulas had watched him, he  _had_  to have noticed. So why did he claim, now, that he didn’t remember?
> 
> Possibilities, in order of ascending probability: Prowl had overestimated Mesothulas’s observational skills, or else overestimated the obtrusiveness of his hobby. Mesothulas had suffered from memory loss; possibly in the Noisemaze, possibly elsewhere. Tarantulas wasn’t Mesothulas at all. Tarantulas was a  _different_  Mesothulas.
> 
> Prowl fixed his gaze on Mesothulas again, consideringly.
> 
> And then said, «I appreciate the duality of them. They contain both positive and negative, unified in one.» He paused. «… Joking. I simply enjoy the tactile sensation.»
> 
> He stacked them together into a brick, two wide and four long, and popped open a panel on his calf to attach the magnets underneath. If Mesothulas is watching close, he’ll be able to glimpse others hidden in the same place.

Tarantulas

> Nnnrgh, scrap. That silence either meant that Prowl was still in a magnet-induced haze, or that Tarantulas had said something wrong. He was leaning toward the latter. It was entirely possible that this magnet thing, whatever it was, had been going on long before the Noisemaze incident in this universe, and Tarantulas had just slipped up big time.
> 
> «That’s an entirely reasonable explanation, I don’t see why you’d joke that. But I see, that’s… logical. I’ve never spent time examining them myself, but I can imagine the sensation is pleasing.» And probably different for Tarantulas than for Prowl now, with the organic sensors in his claws.
> 
> Tarantulas did notice bits of other magnets, only further confirming his suspicions. Yeah, there really was something about this magnet thing. Slag.
> 
> Alright, now for an awkward attempt to distract him. Tarantulas narrowed his visor, thinking, observing, an old familiar expression.
> 
> «Are you… stressed?» A pause. «You  _winced_ earlier.»

Prowl

> «I find it so, yes. Not many others do.» A moment of thought; and then Prowl opened the panel again, withdrew one of the magnets Mesothulas had just given him, and offered it back. In case he wanted to try it out himself.
> 
> A quick wave of calculations; was there any harm in telling Mesothulas the truth? What if he was, indeed, an agent of the Dead Universe? Or Unicron? What if he wasn’t even from this universe? Prowl could come up with no ways the information could be practically used against him outside of hand-to-hand combat, which seemed the least likely route right now if Mesothulas wanted to hurt him; or Mesothulas could volunteer to do repairs that he intended to sabotage, which Prowl could easily turn down if offered. «I’ve had back pain since I was reformatted. I’m planning to get the issue fixed soon.» A facade of trust without any actual risk.

Tarantulas

> After a brief moment of confusion, Tarantulas took the magnet back and manipulated it in one claw, feeling the difference of sensation on fuzz and on clawtip. The slight magnetic buzz of it was nice, for sure. Not something he’d fixate on like Prowl seemed to, but… pleasant.
> 
> He kept toying with the magnet while he and Prowl spoke, although as per usual he had eyes only for Prowl. «Back pain?» Hrmm. Not ideal. Prowl in pain was not good. Not only did it hinder him physically and distract him, it bothered Tarantulas on an emotional level. He fretted. «That’s been  _quite_  some time, you really should have gotten it  _seen to_ before now. They  **had** medics on your ship…»
> 
> A pause while Tarantulas assessed Prowl’s frame the best he could. «I was meaning to perform a physical on you sometime in the near future, for the sake of the diluted energon, and for your own health.» And for Tarantulas’ personal data records. «It… frustrates me that I have neither the equipment nor possibility of doing so now.»

Prowl

> There. «Give it back before you leave.» Prowl didn’t care if the gift had come from Mesothulas in the first place, it was Prowl’s now and he wasn’t giving it up. He settled back into his original position, watching Mesothulas’s claws.
> 
> «When I first realized I had pain, there were more important issues to deal with. And then I didn’t have access to a medic who’s familiar with the specifics of my frame.» Any medic could fix back pain. Not any one could do it without disrupting his ability to combine. «I plan to get the problem fixed as soon as I’m free. I have a specialist picked out. He’s already working on the blueprints, we just need to be in the same location.»
> 
> He waved off Tarantulas’s offer (demand?) for a physical. «I prefer my medical records in the hands of medics. Regardless, you won’t get any useful information on the diluted energon by studying me. I only tried it once, and that was months ago.»

Tarantulas

> A nod. Tarantulas understood. As soon as those magnets had touched the metal of Prowl’s hands, they were irrevocably his. He’d made sure to give this one back eventually, when he was done playing around.
> 
> A few moments of squinty suspicion before Tarantulas threw him another comm. «… _Hook_? You’re going to let  **Hook**  operate on you? By Primus, you’re…» A frustrated noise. «Blueprints. How much alteration are you planning on undergoing? You do realize you’re sitting right in front of a mech who quite literally restructured his entire frame and alt mode and has far beyond the stats required for medical qualification.» Twitch twitch. The indignation was tangible. «At the very least, allow me to survey the plans before you undergo surgery. You deserve  _that_ much.»
> 
> And yes, it was a demand, possibly even a threat. There was no way Tarantulas was going to have Prowl running around now without knowing as much detail about him as possible, from the chemical composition of the paint on his helm to the circumference of the bolts in his ankle joint. 
> 
> «…In any case, I  _will_  get a physical out of you, Prowl. I won’t have my precious muse gallivanting around Cybertron with maladjusted hip rotation or inefficient metabolic rates. It simply wouldn’t  _do_.»

Prowl

> An astute conclusion. «Yes, I am. Despite the persona he  _so painstakingly_  puts on to the contrary, Hook  _is_  quite brilliant in his own right—and he understands better than anyone else the unique constraints of my frame.»
> 
> Oh, Prowl really didn’t need to be reminded of Mesothulas’s absurdly high intellectual qualifications. It was a good thing his fans were already on to compensate for the heat of the cell, maybe Mesothulas wouldn’t notice if a couple of them clicked on to a higher setting. «And four million years ago, _Hook_  was successfully performing life-saving operations without having had a single day of medical training, using surgical tools jury-rigged out of construction equipment—and  _since then_  he’s actually  _been educated._  You are not the only person in this prison, much less on this planet, who is capable of rebuilding a back.»
> 
> He almost flat-out refused Mesothulas’s repeated demand for a physical—then hesitated, and recalculated. «There is no reason in the universe why you should have  _any_  medical records on me. However—if you  _want_  them, you had better be prepared to make an equal offer in return. If you get to see everything, then so do I.»
> 
> Prowl’s frame was common; it was highly likely Mesothulas already knew almost everything there was to know about it, except for the specific alterations it had undergone for Devastator. Mesothulas’s, however, was a mystery. Prowl was willing to sacrifice a bit of his privacy in order to find out what was going on inside Mesothulas; and he could pass that information on to someone who could search it for dangerous aberrations from the norm.
> 
> «While we’re on the subject of the Constructicons—you cannot speak to them. At all. I don’t want you speaking with  _any_  of my associates behind my back, but if you’re not going to respect that request—and I’m sure you’re not—then at the very least it’s  _imperative_  that you respect this one. The Constructicons are loud, stupid, bad at planning ahead, and incapable of keeping a secret. If you make contact with them, they  _will_  let that information leak, it  _will_  get back to Starscream, and then all my plans are doomed and we’re all in danger.»

Tarantulas

> «From the sound of it, it’s not just your back that’ll be fixed. I don’t  **care** how qualified Hook is -» A mental snort. «- I still don’t trust him not to frag things up, nor do I want him anywhere near your internals for a variety of other reasons. I can _… understand_ your reluctance to allow me the privilege of medically treating you, but it’s the better option, to be sure.»
> 
> Every one of Tarantulas’ words screamed “mine” - it wasn’t an undertone anymore. That wasn’t a good enough reason for Prowl, though. Tarantulas would have to try persuading him otherwise.
> 
> «An equal offer? Prowl Prowl Prowl. As if I weren’t planning on sharing details with you anyway, at least eventually. It’s a fair enough exchange.» Maybe not an  _equal_ exchange per se, but one Tarantulas considered worth it. Sure, Prowl could pass on the information on his alt to another medic or scientist, but it’d have to be someone he trusted, which meant Tarantulas could probably trust them as well. Besides, it wasn’t as if he thought anyone else could replicate his results, or even want to. 
> 
> Aha, the Constructicons. Interesting subject. «You have my word I won’t contact them. Your logic is sound, as per usual.» There was a smile in Tarantulas’ visor, pleasure in seeing Prowl’s mind at work and being able to praise it. 

Prowl

> « _I_  trust him not to mess things up; and as I am the patient here, not you, my judgment is the one I will be going with. That’s final.»
> 
> Good. A bargain had been struck. And now to the finicky bit: how the exchange was going to be made. «… How do you intend to transfer these records?» Had this been the last time they’d met, so many millennia ago, the solution would be obvious; five minutes from now they could have safely swapped the data and moved on. But this  _wasn’t_  the last time they’d met, and Prowl had far more reasons than just his distrust of Mesothulas to refuse that method.
> 
> A nod. «Good.» One less thing to be concerned about.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had to stop himself from hissing with his setae. He knew he couldn’t convince Prowl anymore, but that wouldn’t stop him from being upset about it. He sulked.
> 
> Data transfer, now that was something to distract him with. «Probably best to wait until you’re out of prison. I’m sure you have the proper equipment for processing that sort of thing somewhere. I’ve got files in three formats -» He listed them, none of them common file types. «- so take your pick.» 
> 
> Tarantulas had the equipment for processing and transferring them, but there was no way he’d be letting Prowl near his lair. Yet.
> 
> The concept of hardlining didn’t cross his mind. That was something he’d rarely done with the Prowl from his universe, mostly for brainstorming scientific experiments and communicating quickly when their words couldn’t catch up with them.

Prowl

> Prowl was relieved that Mesothulas didn’t immediately suggest the _obvious_  way to transfer files, the quick and easy way they’d passed data back and forth when they had been more firmly on the same side. He could and would say no—he was confident enough of that—but he didn’t want to have to.
> 
> «What’s wrong with transferring it onto a basic data slug and handing it over? Or even comming it over—it’s slow but it gets the job done.»
> 
> Prowl’s processor  _thrives_  on uncommon file types. «First one.» The other two were unfamiliar, but the first one he used regularly. To the chagrin of almost everyone around him. Did Mesothulas remember that about him, or was he just lucky?

Tarantulas

> Yes, thankfully for Tarantulas, he did remember his Prowl having used that file type. One point for the multiversal spider.
> 
> «I suppose data slug would be sufficient, but even though the file type is condensed it’s still quite a large chunk of files. I’m sure I’ve got something somewhere I can use, but…» A little whiny toward the end there. That would mean going back to his other universe, which was a pain generally. «I don’t feel comfortable transferring over comm unless we’re geographically proximal.»
> 
> Tarantulas wouldn’t mind sticking around in the cell while the files transfer, to be honest, even if they didn’t speak. Just being there with Prowl would be… nice. Plus, then Prowl could ask questions about the data while it was being fed over.

Prowl

> Prowl generally used data slugs that would be more than large enough to handle the files. He preferred keeping his files uncompressed— _also_  to the chagrin of almost everyone around him—so the larger capacity was a necessity. He didn’t have any with him, though. How could he have anticipated needing them in prison?
> 
> He could have argued that Mesothulas leave to get a sufficient slug and then come back; but the longer it took for him to receive those files, the longer it would take to start digging into the blueprints. If Prowl wanted to get the files sooner rather than later, it would have to be by comm.
> 
> Prowl gave Mesothulas a Look. «We’re so close I could kick you in the face. We are  _very_  geographically proximal.» He paused, asked, «What’s your data transfer rate via comm?» and immediately regretted asking.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave Prowl a very weird face. «Please don’t kick my mandibles, Prowl. That wouldn’t end very well for either of us.» Possible endings including Tarantulas eating Prowl’s foot.
> 
> With a little giggle Tarantulas told Prowl his transfer rate. It was spectacularly enhanced, thanks to Hubcap’s fiddling around, but would still take a few minutes to process the necessary information. «Although I wouldn’t have  _all_ the files you need on hand, I’m afraid. You’re going to want to be thorough, and all I have are general specs and a few chunks of functioning records - not quite enough for your inquiring mind, surely. That’s why I mentioned geographic proximity.»

Prowl

> «I’m not going to— I’m just verbally illustrating our distance. I don’t want to kick your mandibles.»
> 
> Prowl’s engine sputtered a little at that number. that was bigger than Prowl remembered  _why had it gotten bigger **it was so much bigger**_
> 
> Give him a few seconds while he tries to stuff that number away somewhere safe, where his mind can’t touch it for a while. Please ignore the audible increase in his internal fans’ volume.
> 
> «… Fair point. Yes. You’re right. It wouldn’t do to do an incomplete job now and then have to do it all over again later. It would simply be a waste of both of our time.» And Prowl knew he shouldn’t permit himself to initiate such a large file transfer right now. Even over comms rather than wires, if he had a partner who knew what he was doing… and  _that_  kind of data transfer rate… no,  _no_ , no, Prowl needs to stop thinking. Maybe Unicronian. Definite stalker. Untrustworthy and dangerous. Focus on that.
> 
> Everything about Prowl’s body language was tense. His face was—of course—blank.

Tarantulas

> The amount of satisfaction Tarantulas got from Prowl’s reactions was obscene. Oh yes, he did notice the pause, the sputter of engines, the whirr of new fans. Tarantulas was amused and thankful for the fact that he was still able to control his own ventilation and avoid giving away any return response.
> 
> «Oh, I doubt it would be  _too_ big a waste of time.» Tarantulas leaned forward slightly, drawn to the unwilling display. He put his claw on the floor to support himself, glad to find that the limb was steady. Primus, but what was he doing? This was a terrible idea, messing with Prowl like this…
> 
> Oh, wow. Thank you, Prowl, for finally making Tarantulas think of hardlining, now that the sexual overtones were there. «If you’re concerned about rate of transfer, there’s no reason why I couldn’t drop a line into your systems. You’ve no idea how much faster that’d be in comparison.»

Prowl

> Prowl’s fuel tank lurched. Drop a line into his system like a puppet string, a many-limbed purple bug on the other end, jerking him around—
> 
> «Absolutely  _not._ » He was glad Tarantulas had given him something easy to reject. «A waste of time is a waste of time regardless of the method. If  _you’re_ concerned about the rate of transfer, then while you’re getting the other data, you can go find a data slug that can handle all the files. We can skip the need for a direct transfer completely.»

Tarantulas

> Nnrgh. Disappointment sunk into Tarantulas’ frame. Prowl had been so quick to reject him, the emphasis coming so easily - what had he said? After a moment, he reluctantly pulled back into his original pose, giving off an unconcerned air as best he could.
> 
> «Oh come now, you know you’d enjoy getting your hands on  _any_ data sooner rather than later. Your choice, however. Data slug it is.»
> 
> «I assume you’ll be offering me your own records at the same time?»

Prowl

> A little bit of the tension eased out of his frame as Tarantulas leaned back. «And what, pray tell, do you expect me to  _do_  with that data while sitting inside a prison cell? Plug it into the invisible supercomputer I have hiding in the corner?» He was getting snippy. That was unnecessary. He dimmed his optics and lowered his head. «I can afford to wait for the data, and whatever you give me now will be rendered redundant by the full file.» 
> 
> Right. He had to offer his own files as well. This was a trade, not a gift. «Bring a second slug for my records.»

Tarantulas

> «As if you can’t manipulate it in your own processor? Don’t play stupid with me, Prowl, you’d have a wonderful time perusing the data while you sit here alone in this cell, I know you’re capable of that and  _more_.»
> 
> Resigning himself to the facts of the matter, Tarantulas shifted backward so his appendages were pressed against the wall diagonal wall, helm tilted back until it made a tiny “thnk” against the metal. «Sufficient. Not as good as a live examination, but that can be arranged. Unless you nix the idea entirely, that is… but then you won’t get all the data I have to offer.»

Prowl

> «And when I was done manipulating it, to what practical end could I put that knowledge? I can  _and will_  wait to receive it all at once, in a data slug.»
> 
> Prowl lifted his head slightly at the sound of Tarantulas moving across the floor, watching him relocate. Well. Clearly he’d got the message. «Would I have asked for a second data slug if I intended to nix the idea?»

Tarantulas

> « **You’re**  the creative one, you’d come up with something.» Not that Tarantulas didn’t have ideas, but he wasn’t going to give Prowl any yet. «But I  _get_ it,  _calm_ yourself.»
> 
> Tarantulas glanced over at Prowl, catching his rare gaze. «The examination as well? Good then, good. I’ll take your suggestions as to where this meeting is supposed to take place.» Please don’t say Tarantulas’ lab. That would be stupid to even suggest. You know he won’t allow that yet, Prowl.

Prowl

> This was true, he  _would_  come up with something. He’d  _already_  come up with something. He considered pointing out that if Tarantulas really did “get it,” he wouldn’t have kept pushing; but no, that wouldn’t be productive, would it?
> 
> «I  _didn’t_  say examination. I said I’d give you files. As in I will be controlling what, and how much, information I am passing to you.  _You_  are the one who needs to calm yourself.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor narrowed. «Examination is  _required_ for full data exchange. You have my permission to perform the same in return or have another confidential mech perform a physical, but your cooperation is  **not** optional.»
> 
> After a moment, Tarantulas did calm himself somewhat, remembering the small magnet in his claw and twirling it around slightly. «I’m quite placid, I assure you. Check my stats and see for yourself.» And just to spite him Tarantulas sent over a tiny data packet of his current vitals. Yes, he’d calmed down mostly, and what hadn’t been normal, he’d edited in the split second before he sent it.

Prowl

> «… Ex _cuse_  you?» Prowl’s optics narrowed. «On  _what_  grounds do you think you have the right to  _demand_  that I provide you with any more medical information about myself than I feel like providing? I did  _not_  request a full physical exam from you, nor do I want one. You will get  _records_ —my most _recent_  records, and I expect nothing more than that in return—but you will _not_  be examining me. That is  _final_. You can respect that boundary, or you can leave. The choice is yours.» And Prowl was  _almost_  positive he knew which choice Tarantulas was going to make. But there was the slight possibility that, very soon, he would be kicking in Tarantulas’s mandibles after all.
> 
> Had Mesothulas been like this when Prowl had last seen him—eager to worm himself into Prowl’s life as quickly and as deeply as possible? He hadn’t been when they  _first_  met, no, but Prowl hadn’t mattered to him then. Had Prowl failed to notice because he’d been as deeply hypnotized by Mesothulas as Mesothulas had been by him? Or was this a new development, something that had bubbled up in him after he was banished to the Noisemaze?
> 
> Prowl winced at the data packet as though it was a bullet that narrowly missed his audial. The packet caught in his comm unit, and his mind crawled over it, turning it and prodding it from every angle for any sign of malicious code, before he cautiously opened the packet up. Nothing dangerous; just pettiness.

Tarantulas

> As Prowl grew more adamant, Tarantulas seemed to go slack even more, as if he didn’t care in the least. It was a difficult feat for him to pull off, but an important one, in his mind. «I wasn’t demanding, goodness Prowl. I’m just saying that if you’d like to acquire the full extent of the data, you’ll have to give me what  _I_ want as well. You don’t trust me, and I don’t trust you - yet. The only way to fix that is to take steps that render us _vulnerable_  to each other. I’m willing to do that, and it seems you aren’t. Your choice, your loss.»
> 
> No, Mesothulas hadn’t been this way. He hadn’t had millennia to stew and mutate, fixate and fantasize. Prowl had become an object of utmost fascination to him during his banishment, and the more he realized he needed him, the more intense his obsession became. Something, something was missing in Tarantulas’ life. He  _assumed_  this was Prowl. Now, he was set on fixing this absence - he felt like he was  _so_   _close_ , and yet…

Prowl

> «“Examination is  _required_.” “Your cooperation is  _not_  optional.” “I wasn’t demanding.” One of these statements is not like the others, Tarantulas.» Honestly, Prowl  _wasn’t_  certain he was reading Tarantulas’s intent correctly—he was  _never_  certain. Was Tarantulas revising his original meaning to soften his original intent, or had Prowl gotten tripped up somewhere between Tarantulas’s words and Prowl’s own assumptions and concluded he meant more than he actually did? Prowl didn’t know. He couldn’t tell. That was why he had other people he could consult with.
> 
> But for now, he was holding firm. If his second opinions agreed that he’d read the situation correctly, then he’d read the situation correction. If they said he’d been wrong—then he’d apologize. «Not examinations for examinations. Records for records. That  _is_  vulnerability. How many mechs do you think I’d give  _that_  much to?»

Tarantulas

> «Required, not optional -  **if** you want the full package. Don’t get so nit-picky, Prowl.» Honestly he’d been a little careless with his words, but what he was saying now was his true intent. Mostly. He really did believe he’d get his way eventually, but apparently he wouldn’t get it because of his choice of words.
> 
> «Records for records it is, then. Forgive me my curiosity, it’s just that I haven’t had the honor of studying a member of a combiner before, seeing the changes it brings to a mech’s frame, especially when it’s forced upon them. I’m certainly glad - and privileged - to have the raw data alone, don’t misunderstand me - it’s simply that I’d gain so much _more_  out of a full investigation.»
> 
> Scientific curiosity. It always boiled down to that. And his obsession with Prowl.

Prowl

> Maybe he  _had_  been mistaken. «I’m  _always_  nit-picky. You should know how much I value linguistic precision.» But he wouldn’t push it. They were on the same page now, and the deal was still on.
> 
> When Tarantulas said what he  _wanted_  the data for, though—Prowl didn’t even try to hide his cringe. No, he didn’t want that. «I’m…»
> 
> It took him a moment to gather his words again. He had nothing linguistically precise enough. Nothing sterile enough. «I am… not… comfortable. With that. Being studied, specifically, as a  _combiner_. By  _anyone_.» His blank expression wavered; for a moment, he looked ever-so-slightly miserable.
> 
> For the first time in a year, he didn’t feel the need-to-combine, like an old heavy ache settled in his limbs, draining the energy out of him. But already he could feel the itch stirring in his joints again, under his plating where he couldn’t reach it. And every once in a while, in the dark of his mind, there were painful flashes of anger like fireworks.
> 
> «I can’t control what you do with my data after I pass it to you. But…» He struggled, gaze darting about the floor as if searching for words.

Tarantulas

> « _Teasing_ , Prowl.» An amused glint in Tarantulas’ visor.
> 
> It was strange, though, watching the transition from confident Prowl to… slightly weak Prowl, if Tarantulas was being honest. Not weak in a bad way, but definitely vulnerable. It was something Tarantulas hadn’t seen in a while, if at all, really. He couldn’t think of a time when his Prowl looked like this. It surprised him.
> 
> «I… suppose I didn’t think it through thoroughly, I… apologize for being…  _obtuse_.» Tarantulas was struggling for words as much as Prowl was. How should he approach this? He had no experience dealing with Prowl in this manner, what did someone say when the other person was… upset? 
> 
> «I didn’t mean to imply I was -» …studying Prowl? Yes. Yes he did. Start over. Tarantulas sighed over comm. 
> 
> «I suppose it’s not so much  _studying_  I’m after, as much as  _knowing_. I want to  **know**  how your frame works. For the sake of knowing, not for some grand scientific experiment. It’s about  **you** , Prowl, not about the science.»

Prowl

> A tiny, jerky nod at Mesothulas’s apology. Did he mean it, Prowl wondered, or was he just trying to say the correct thing to get back in Prowl’s good graces? The way he fumbled with his words suggested there was some degree of sincerity behind it, at least.
> 
> «… Don’t lie. It’s  _always_  about both with you.» There was no hint of resentment or accusation in his tone. There was no hint of  _anything_  in his tone, of course—but the empty gap left behind by the missing emotional content might have been in the shape of affection.
> 
> He found the words he was looking for. He’d said them once before already, to Jazz, months ago. They came out more easily this time. «Treat me like I haven’t been changed.»
> 
> He raised a hand to his face, rubbing his optics, collecting himself—that was enough for now.
> 
> To be sure, nothing Prowl had just shown Mesothulas had been  _false_. But, he could have chosen not to show it at all. He could have slammed shut the door, kept his face blank, coldly ordered Mesothulas not to study him as a component.
> 
> But, Mesothulas had asked for  _vulnerability_.

Tarantulas

> Oh, he’d meant it. But he also was constantly trying to get in Prowl’s good graces, missteps or no. He had a lot of work to do.
> 
> «Maybe it is both, but it’s possible to  _choose_ , and if you’d rather I not dissect the data like that, I won’t. Not that I can prove that to you, but the sentiment is there.» And it was, he wasn’t lying about it. 
> 
> Watching Prowl rub at his optics made Tarantulas want to comfort him. Hold him. Purr deep in his chest and keep Prowl close and distract him from his thoughts. Unfortunately for Tarantulas, he wasn’t quite allowed to do that, at least not yet. He just held himself still and kept watching with a stifled sort of emotion in his optics.
> 
> «I’ll do my best, Prowl. If it makes you feel any better, I’m more fixated on the fact that you’re… you’re different than the Prowl I used to know. Not drastically so, but small things. The millennia have changed you in ways other than your frame.»
> 
> He wanted to say,  _you’re different than the other Prowl,_ but he couldn’t bring himself to confess that particular lie of omission yet.

Prowl

> Prowl didn’t know if he could believe  _that_ , either. But, it  _felt_  true. Prowl didn’t trust feelings, and so he would remain uncertain—but it was a small comfort all the same. Another jerky nod. «… Thank you.»
> 
> His spark shuddered. He wanted to ask how he had changed—he  _needed_  to know what was different, needed to know what he was doing  _wrong_  so he could fix it, so he could go back to being who he used to be—but he didn’t want to hear the answers. They were probably things it was no longer in his power to change. So instead, he simply said, «You’ve changed too.»
> 
> He heard echoes of the lie in the statement anyway; the probability that Tarantulas wasn’t from here ticked slightly higher. He wondered what it would mean for them if Tarantulas was a foreigner. He wondered where his own Mesothulas was.

Tarantulas

> Honestly Tarantulas wouldn’t know how to answer how Prowl had changed, or how Prowl was different from his own, rather. He was glad Prowl didn’t ask.
> 
> «Hyeh. I wonder why.» Sarcasm, of course, but not maliciously meant. He’d leave that one open for interpretation in any case.
> 
> Eventually Prowl would discover the truth of the matter and what had happened to his Mesothulas - the day was coming soon, Tarantulas could feel it. But for some reason he just really, really wanted to play pretend for a little while longer. …Maybe he was simply worried Prowl wouldn’t trust him ever again afterward.
> 
> «…Any chance you know when the next guard comes through?»

Prowl

> «Mm.» Wonder why indeed. There were two very obvious answers to that question.
> 
> «Approximately seven minutes, give or take twenty seconds.»

Tarantulas

> Seven minutes. Hmm. Long enough for Prowl to react and get himself back together if things didn’t go well, and long enough for… well, Tarantulas didn’t know what would happen if this worked, actually. 
> 
> Without saying anything, Tarantulas slowly clambered to his pedes and proceeded to transform in the middle of the cell. Limbs arranged themselves for a minute as Tarantulas let Prowl adjust to the change, before he mass shifted down to a few feet and rippled forward intently.
> 
> He would have preferred doing something like this in mech mode, but the way his extra appendages arched out from his back prevented cuddling from the side - and there wasn’t really any other way to cuddle that the guards wouldn’t notice. Instead he now opted to scuttle around Prowl’s side and wiggle himself into the gap between Prowl’s thighs and torso, shrinking down just enough so he fit.

Prowl

> As Tarantulas transformed, Prowl assumed he’d decided to leave; maybe he’d asked about the guard so he’d know what to look out for as he left. Probably eager to hurry off and get his data so he could get his weird little hands on Prowl’s in return. «Give my magnet back.»
> 
> But then he headed straight toward Prowl instead of up the wall. «What are you…?» He didn’t need to finish the question. Tarantulas was doing the exact same thing as last time. And, like last time, Prowl froze and let it happen. He told himself he’d shove Tarantulas off if he headed down Prowl’s thigh toward his groin; he was relieved he didn’t have to.
> 
> This was so surreal. This… affection from someone who was supposed to be dead. Someone who Prowl didn’t even trust. When would this experience stop feeling like it was somehow disjointed from reality, so Prowl could enjoy the good parts? He wanted to enjoy it.
> 
> Once again, with a tiny organic body nestled up against his abdomen, tiny hairs brushing against him, Prowl was struck by how fragile Tarantulas seemed. He scooted his feet forward, forming a wider triangle with his legs and the floor, to give Tarantulas more room.

Tarantulas

> Nope. Tarantulas was holding the magnet hostage until he decided to leave, which if he had anything to say about it, would be never.
> 
> Ah, thank Primus Prowl seemed to be tolerant of the cuddles - he hadn’t thrown him off, at least. The wider space he gave him was taken advantage of immediately, Tarantulas mass shifting up to fill the new space. Fuzzy legs patted and petted as the spider explored the space, his claws retracted, leaving only the gentle tips against the smooth metal.
> 
> Eventually Tarantulas maneuvered himself to face Prowl’s chest, using the new kibble to hold on as he hugged his front in a strangely firm embrace. Goodness, how he wished he was in mech mode curling Prowl against his own chest instead, but this would have to do.
> 
> Notably, Tarantulas wasn’t nearly as fragile as Prowl thought he was, thanks to the matrix he’d incorporated into his external organic layer, but of course Prowl didn’t know that, and Tarantulas wasn’t going to spoil it and refuse the gentleness Prowl was treating him with.

Prowl

> Prowl watched silently as Tarantulas adjusted himself, careful not to move and disturb him. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake as last time. This time, he was using his words, as he should have before. «May I touch you?»

Tarantulas

> Funny that Prowl was considerate enough to use words and request permission before initiating contact. Tarantulas had done no such thing in approaching Prowl to begin with.
> 
> Strangely unwanting to use words at the moment, Tarantulas pinged Prowl an affirmation, nudging at the other mech’s chassis with his pedipalps at the same time. For some time he remained silent, until he begrudgingly decided that he should probably give Prowl some guidelines for touching, if that was what he wanted to do.
> 
> A churr across the commlink. «Avoid the ventral area, and the optics. And probably the chelicerae, unless you’d like to accidentally get  _bitten_.»

Prowl

> Prowl hesitated uncertainly at the lack of guidance, and was about to ask for elaboration when Tarantulas sent it himself.
> 
> Ventral area and optics, he understood. He didn’t have the slightest clue what chelicerae were, but from the context they were probably around Tarantulas’s mouth. Prowl could manage all of that. He carefully ran a hand down Tarantulas's—what was the term, abdomen?—brushing over the hairs but barely touching the flesh underneath. There was no sense of mechanical life underneath—no whirs or hums, no EM field. It was as remarkable as it was disconcerting, to have an alien animal in his lap and know it was actually a Cybertronian.
> 
> And still there was that uncanny, unpleasant feel of disconnected reality, settled over the whole scene. Where was it coming from?

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t so bothered by the surreal nature of the situation, fixated on Prowl as much as he was. He’d been so intent on gaining some sense of closeness, simple touch, that now that he’d gotten it he couldn’t focus on anything else. Physically connected with Prowl now, his processor was whirring with activity, measuring fan rotation and temperature, engine RPM and fuel pump rates. He greedily consumed every bit of data he could.
> 
> That, and he reveled in the sensation of Prowl’s hand on his back, so careful and hesitant; that data was as important if not moreso than the former. Hmm. Was it some sort of burgeoning affection that motivated Prowl to pet him, or mere need for tactile reassurance? Regardless Tarantulas shifted again in Prowl’s lap and sent him a pleased ping to let him know he was OK, and that Prowl was doing well.
> 
> A few moments later he added, «You won’t damage me, I assure you.» He proceeded to rub small contradicting circles on Prowl’s armor with his pedipalps, hoping the motion was soothing.

Prowl

> The motion was certainly… distracting, it had that going for it. And intense, almost electric. Between the bizarre texture, and the fact that the person behind it was one half monstrous threatening stranger, one half reincarnation of a person who had once mattered more to Prowl than anyone else… It was hard to focus on anything else. He tilted his head back, letting his head rest against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
> 
> «If you’re certain.» For the moment, he stopped stroking, and let his hand rest heavily on Tarantulas’s abdomen. It didn’t feel as squishy as he’d expected, now that he was touching it directly. More crunchy.
> 
> He was safe. Tarantulas would not dare endanger himself or the alliance he was trying to form by attacking Prowl from this distance. Prowl was risking nothing, either material or strategic, with this indulgence. He tried to tell himself he could relax and enjoy it. He still felt guilty.

Prowl

> The sensation Tarantulas had from touching Prowl’s frame was slightly different, cold and warm at the same time, so much smoother than his own texture, and buzzing slightly with Prowl’s closely-kept natural EM field (not that it told him much, it never had). It certainly wasn’t unpleasant, and he wasn’t going to be stopping anytime soon. Curious pedipalps continued to trace shapes on Prowl’s plating, following the lines that made up his frame.
> 
> «I’m certain. The cetrium complex is quite resilient.» But that was all he was giving right now - he could dazzle Prowl with science another time.
> 
> Yes, Prowl was safe, and Tarantulas was safe too. As much as he was anxious around Prowl, he genuinely trusted him to a significant extent, enough to leave any worry behind while cuddled in the metallic nest of his lap.
> 
> Confident that the guard wasn’t coming for a minute still, Tarantulas allowed a low churr to emanate from the center of his smaller frame, the vibrations transferring over to Prowl. It was a happy noise, a placid noise, something Prowl had probably never heard before. Hopefully it’d be one he’d get used to hearing.

Prowl

> Still looking at the ceiling, Prowl had to wonder if he would be tolerating this much contact if the hairy crunchy shape in his lap hadn’t been so far removed from anything remotely Cybertronian. Would he still be permitting this contact if the shape on his lap tracing circles across his plating wasn’t a ten-limbed fuzzball, but Mesothulas himse—  _Revvv_. He shouldn’t have thought that. He should  _not_  have thought that. That was not a thing he should have thought. His gaze at the ceiling intensified, optics brighter.
> 
> «I see. Well—let me know if I cross a line.»
> 
> … That was a nice noise. It was comforting. Almost like a little song, telling him that Mesothulas was happy. And wasn’t  _that_  uncannily familiar. His spark shook, and his optics brightened further, for a completely different reason.
> 
> He could really, really do with fewer mood swings from Tarantulas’s visits.

Tarantulas

> To be honest, the un-Cybertronian-ness was part of the reason Tarantulas had transformed before approaching Prowl. This way he was easier to handle, less threatening, emotionally and physically. One day, though, he’d get Prowl to eagerly accept attention from his mech form as well.
> 
> Huh, a revv? What could Prowl possibly be thinking? It was a mystery that was cut off by the received comm, to which he sent another wordless affirmative ping back without thought.
> 
> As close as he was to Prowl at the moment though, Tarantulas couldn’t help but notice the internal shakiness that followed the comforting churr. Had it been the wrong sort of noise to make? Prowl certainly didn’t seem calmed by it in the least. Drawing in on himself slightly, Tarantulas nudged Prowl and sent another questioning ping his way, despite the chance that he might not get an answer in return.

Prowl

> The only response Tarantulas got was Prowl, very gently, tugging him closer.
> 
> Prowl was going to have to face the possibility that he wasn’t going to be able to pull himself out of this. He had several calls out to his closest associates, warning them to stay away from Tarantulas and to investigate his past—and here was Prowl with Tarantulas in his lap and he didn’t even know what universe he was from. If Prowl wasn’t able to keep himself from being dragged under again, he was going to have to prepare himself properly, so that this time he wouldn’t drown.
> 
> It was lucky that Starscream had given him some free time to run some calculations.
> 
> «… Fifteen seconds.» Prowl let go of Tarantulas, not sure if he planned on getting off, or just shrinking to hide until the guard had passed.

Tarantulas

> Even more of a mystery, but Tarantulas wasn’t going to complain about being pulled in. Prowl - precious Prowl - wanted him closer, so never mind the reason. It made Tarantulas’ spark spin a little faster.
> 
> …Which then made it all the more disappointing when Prowl let go. Taking cues from him, he shrunk down to his smallest size, a millimeter that Prowl most likely wouldn’t be able to feel, and tucked himself away under the bumper in front of him.
> 
> It was almost sad how easy it was for him to hide from the clueless guard. The mech came and passed uneventfully, as far as Tarantulas could tell.
> 
> Pfft. What if he just stayed here hidden under Prowl’s bumper? He wouldn’t be able to find him, that’s for sure. Maybe due to the affectionate nature of the moment, Tarantulas was feeling playful enough to actually follow through and cling in the shadows of Prowl’s torso without a peep.

Prowl

> Prowl pulled his knees up to his chest again as the guard passed. A warning on his HUD reminded him that his back was still upset. He waited until the guard was gone to turn his pain sensors back on, and immediately grimaced. He shifted himself a bit until the pain lessened slightly, then slid his feet back out and turned the sensors off again.
> 
> … Where was Tarantulas? Prowl wasn’t surprised he couldn’t see him—pretty much everything that happened between his bumper and his thighs was a complete mystery to him—but he should have at least been able to feel him. Had he left while Prowl was distracted by the guard and checking his back? «Tarantulas?»

Tarantulas

> Perfect, he was right. Prowl couldn’t track him when he was this small - a fact he shelved away for later use. Now came the decision as to whether or not to come out from beneath the bumper.
> 
> All Prowl got in response to the name call was a clearly mischievous ping. Tarantulas skittered around quickly under Prowl’s bumper, seemingly getting nowhere with how small he was, but soon enough he arrived just under the front edge. Eventually he decided he’d come out, but not yet. He’d not had enough fun.

Prowl

> All right. So he was nearby. He was just… too small to feel?
> 
> A tiny purple bug, small enough to slip inside his armor, crawl up to his brain…
> 
> He scrambled to his feet, back pressed against the wall. «Tarantulas where are you  _get off now_.» He managed to curl his hands on each other through sheer force of will, rather than letting them scrabble across his abdomen and risk crushing Tarantulas, his fingers twisting and tugging each other.

Tarantulas

> It was a good thing Tarantulas had made sure to transfer his magna clamps onto his alt mode instead of abandoning them to his old frame. There was no way he’d have been able to stay attached to Prowl otherwise. 
> 
> Almost as panicked as Prowl was, Tarantulas immediately dropped, shifted, and skittered just far away enough to transform. Prowl was serious, something was wrong, he’d pushed too far. It wasn’t even a matter of fixing what he’d done - Tarantulas genuinely worried for Prowl, for how he clasped his hands so frantically, for how tense his frame was.
> 
> Before he could stop himself, Tarantulas was invading Prowl’s personal space and wrapping his slim arms around him, his only thought to reassure Prowl that he wasn’t tiny anymore, wasn’t hidden, wasn’t crawling beneath his plating or anything of the sort. Belatedly he could imagine any of a million reasons why Prowl would be frightened, but still. This was… beyond fear. What was wrong?
> 
> His words spilled across the comm. «Prowl - Prowl - I’m terribly sorry, forgive me, I wasn’t thinking -»

Prowl

> As soon as he saw Tarantulas enlarging in front of him, his hands flew to his abdomen, unable to rationally register that the “bug” was gone, searching blindly for the intruder. From his abdomen, up over his bumper—to claw at his face, fingertips scraping around his optics—to the back of his neck, pawing at the attention deflector-laced mesh over it—
> 
> He recoiled when Tarantulas grabbed him, trying to shove him away. But the moment Prowl realized what he was shoving against—not  _him_ , not  _him_ , someone safe—he reversed, latching on to his chest armor and tugging him closer again. “Don’t—don’t do that again.” His voice was thin and strained, his fingers twisting in the setae on Tarantulas’s chest, grasping and letting go, grasping and letting go. “ _Never_  do that again.”

Tarantulas

> Primus, Tarantulas had never seen Prowl like this before. He was about to grab at his scrabbling hands and keep him from hurting himself, but then Prowl rebounded and shoved at him - he could resist, but what  _should_ he do -
> 
> Thankfully Prowl made that choice for him a split second later. The grasping at his chest wasn’t so much a shock as the voice was - it was only the second time he’d heard Prowl’s actual voice in millennia, and this time it was so  _weak_ , it almost  **hurt** to hear.
> 
> Tarantulas clutched at him, reassuring him, reassuring himself, his servos applying deep pressure where he could (he remembered that from those rare moments so long ago), eventually aiming for the joints in the middle of his back. Ground him, give him something else to think about, anything but what had made him so panicked.
> 
> A low soft tone, an attempt at calming, even though the tenseness was still evident in his voice. “ _I won’t_ , I won’t, I swear.” Suddenly Tarantulas was looking around, making sure there was no one watching, no one listening - that was the last thing they needed right now.

Prowl

> A jerky nod, and then he turned off his optics and pressed his forehead hard to the center of Tarantulas’s chest. Focus on your chevron, focus on your back, focus on your fingers grasping and letting go.
> 
> “… Sorry.” He needed control again. “Two minutes.”

Tarantulas

> Alright, good. No one around, no footsteps as far as Tarantulas could tell. So long as they kept their voices down they’d probably be OK, although getting back to comms would be essential eventually.
> 
> So would getting back into an unsuspicious resting position, but that could wait. Prowl _needed_ Tarantulas right now, just like this, and there was no way in heaven or hell Tarantulas was moving from this spot until Prowl told him to.
> 
> “Don’t apologize.” Deep pressure with blunt claws. He even dared to lean down and nuzzle his mandibles against the top of Prowl’s head. “Take your time. I’m keeping watch. You’re  **safe** , Prowl. Safe.”
> 
> He really was, though, most likely in the safest place in the world for him at that very moment.

Prowl

> And mandibles. Focus on the mandibles too.
> 
> He didn’t reply, even to nod—fully concentrated on regaining control. Nothing else—proximity sensors, strategic simulations, even linguistic programs—is going to get a shred of processing power that he can redirect to his tactical sensors.
> 
> When his two minutes were up, though, he slowly uncurled his fingers, lifted his head from Tarantulas’s chest, and—if Tarantulas let him—stepped back.

Tarantulas

> Two minutes went by a lot faster than Tarantulas wished they would. Just stay there, Prowl. Keep leaning on him. Keep needing him. Keep close.
> 
> When Prowl went to leave, Tarantulas reluctantly let him take a step back but deliberately slid his claws down the sides of Prowl’s arms, clutching at his wrists before Prowl got completely out of reach. Not technically  _forcing_ Prowl to do anything, but strongly  _encouraging_ him not to go.
> 
> Notably, he switched back to comms. «…Stay…?» He didn’t want to say anything else, for fear of breaking whatever strange emotional connection they’d just accidentally forged.

Prowl

> Part of Prowl was tempted to gesture to the energy shield in front of his cell and point out that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But no. Not enough of his social skills were back online for him to risk that. He didn’t know if it would be funny or just send mixed signals.
> 
> He didn’t step back in closer; but he didn’t tug his wrists out of Tarantulas’s hold, either. «… It’s too much.» Tarantulas should understand that. Prowl had always had a low threshold for the amount of physical contact he was able to tolerate at once.

Tarantulas

> For the second time this meeting, Tarantulas felt disappointment sinking into his frame, but at least this time it wasn’t tinged with irritation. He understood, even though he didn’t want to. Prowl wasn’t one for touching, not that much. He’d needed it, but he’d maxxed out. That was it.
> 
> Claws let go of wrists, and Tarantulas pulled back to start pacing the cell. He didn’t want to  _leave_ , but he didn’t know what to do otherwise, what he could possibly say, or how to act at all. Primus, but he felt so restless - well, more restless than usual, and his processor was glitching a little, still hung up on Prowl’s sudden panic and trying to figure it out, but unable to focus because  _Prowl had touched him they’d been so close_

Prowl

> Prowl was fairly certain his back had taken all the sitting it could for the moment, so instead he leaned against the wall.  _We’ll just help Springer_ , Prowl had said.  _Then we’ll negotiate_ , Prowl had said. Great job sticking to that.
> 
> «My behavior was out of line.» He was under control again. Expression blank, voice monotone.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas noticed that Prowl had basically reset. Wonderful. On one hand, it felt like they’d lost whatever progress had been made (progress on what? who knew), but on the other… it’d happened, there was no denying it.
> 
> In any case, at least the facade coming up again meant that Prowl felt marginally better about whatever had happened. Tarantulas still worried, but the secondhand panic was less acute.
> 
> When Prowl spoke Tarantulas slowed down slightly in his pacing, still devoting all his attention to him. He sounded slightly exasperated. «You did nothing impermissible. You - it was -» A small inarticulation via comm. «You’re only a mech, Prowl. You’re  _allowed_ to - you don’t have to -»
> 
> Tarantulas squinted his visor down to almost nothing in an attempt to collect himself and kept pacing, plating ruffling slightly. Getting worked up wouldn’t do any good right now. Prowl didn’t deserve that.
> 
> A pause, then quietly, «…If you wish me to leave, you’ve only to request it of me. If you wish me to stay, I’ll remain.» Giving overt control to Prowl seemed like the best option at the moment, instead of stumbling around like an over-emotional fool. 

Prowl

> Prowl frowned. «I acted—ridiculous. Foolish. It’s unacceptable.» He had a planet to control, a government to puppet, a galaxy to protect from Cybertron. He had to be prepared to spend every hour, waking and sleeping, course-correcting Cybertron’s trajectory away from the path of destruction it was always drawn back to, defying numbers that said every single day that he was going to lose. He couldn’t afford to be sent into blind terrors by small lifeforms and Supremes and touches to the back of his neck. Starscream will chew him up and spit him up, Cybertron will  _devour_  him…
> 
> _You’re only a mech, Prowl._ Sometimes he forgot.
> 
> He felt small.
> 
> Prowl remained silent at Tarantulas’s offer. He wished for both, simultaneously, for wholly incompatible reasons. He wished he could ask Tarantulas to lean against him and tell him something fascinating and meaningless about whatever he was working on, and he wished he could tell Tarantulas to leave and not return until he stopped being amoral and stopped being Shockwave’s wannabe protégé and stopped being a potential Dead Universe cultist and stopped being the person who had helped Prowl bomb an innocent neutral city. He couldn’t have both.
> 
> When in doubt—pragmatism won out. Always. «… You have… data, to go acquire. And two slugs.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas could almost see Prowl shrink slightly. Oh, if only he knew the true weight that burdened Prowl’s shoulders, he’d wish desperately that he could mass shift up to the impossible size to carry it for him instead.
> 
> _Frack_  the data. The data didn’t matter anymore in the slightest, but apparently that’s what Prowl wanted right now. Maybe to stabilize him, Tarantulas mused, maybe that was it. Or maybe he was just relying on the most logical and uncomplicated thing to do instead of asking for what he really wanted.
> 
> «You did no such thing.» But it was useless to argue with Prowl like this. «I’ll… I’ll go, then. I’m assuming you’d like me to return as soon as possible.»
> 
> Reaching into his subspace, Tarantulas pulled out the cube magnet from where he’d stashed it earlier, but he didn’t offer it to Prowl yet.

Prowl

> A moment of hesitation; and then a sharp nod. «… Don’t rush yourself.» Even in that, he wanted both.
> 
> Prowl caught sight of the magnet, and silently held out a hand for it.

Tarantulas

> Should he listen to the nod, or to the words from Prowl’s comm? Well, he’d see how he felt once he was gone. Maybe he’d be a little more hesitant to come back, who knew. It’d take a while to retrieve the slugs anyway.
> 
> Tarantulas slowed in his pacing to pass the magnet off to Prowl, although not without momentarily holding his claw there a millisecond more than necessary. He couldn’t help himself, still. And how he wanted to gently press his mandibles against Prowl’s chevron in an imitation of a kiss, how selfish of him.
> 
> …Selfish, but he did it anyway. Carefully, letting Prowl retreat from the motion if he decided to. Absentmindedly he wondered how many times his alternate might have done the very same thing.

Prowl

> Prowl took a step forward to reclaim the magnet. If Tarantulas’s hand lingered a moment longer than necessary, he wasn’t going to comment on it.
> 
> Prowl stiffened, but he didn’t back away. A part of himself that he intensely hated right now wanted to tilt his chin up and meet Tarantulas’s mandibles properly; he didn’t do that, either. Instead he shut his optics and passively accepted the kiss. This was moving too fast for him to keep up; the surreal feeling intensified again.

Tarantulas

> As soon as Tarantulas’ mandibles met the metal of Prowl’s helm, he almost wished he hadn’t done it - strange. But Prowl didn’t protest, didn’t remove himself from the situation, which was good enough for Tarantulas. Good enough for now. More than enough, really. His own Prowl would have been far less likely to have tolerated the motion.
> 
> Without a word (what would he even say?), Tarantulas retreated and masked the slight embarrassment in his face by rapidly transforming, shifting, crawling, climbing the wall. A cowardly escape, but it was all he could think of at the moment.

Prowl

> Prowl watched wordlessly as Tarantulas retreated, trying to think of something else to say to him, something appropriate but that wasn’t  _too much_ ; again, words failed him. He sent Tarantulas a farewell ping instead.

Tarantulas

> _Ping_. That’d be the last Prowl would hear from Tarantulas for a while.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Will add some notes about implied content in this chapter, once we have time.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas returns with the dataslugs; Prowl assigns Tarantulas some tasks; Tarantulas makes a pivotal decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between this chapter and the last: not much. Prowl has a meeting with Starscream and gets a job offer in addition to some restrictions and commands regarding Devastator. Tarantulas keeps delving into Prowl's social circles but doesn't come up with very much, so he kind of gives up.

Tarantulas

> _Don’t rush yourself,_  Prowl had said. He’d probably meant hours instead of days, but Tarantulas took the extra time and ran with it.
> 
> He’d gotten back to the Tor before he realized he might want to use data slugs easily recognizable from Prowl’s world, so he had to backtrack after a moment’s check-in at the main console. It took a while to find decent substitutes for his own slugs, but it was the best option.
> 
> Besides, he needed time to recoup. Time to poke around in Prowl’s circles a little more. Time to sort through data and review the files he was going to hand over. Time to nap a little, even. So what if that meant tens of hours later? Prowl hadn’t pinged him or asked him what he was up to, so apparently the delay was permissible.
> 
> Once he’d prepped everything, he headed off back toward the cell Prowl had been in, intending to drop in unexpectedly and catch Prowl off-guard. There was always the chance he wouldn’t be there and Tarantulas would be crawling around the prison like an idiot, but still. It’d be worth it if it worked.
> 
> To his delight, Prowl was indeed still in the cell. For the third time now, Tarantulas snuck his way through the energy field and dropped a line from the ceiling, this time catching Prowl’s attention while he was still swinging there, an average tarantula only a few inches wide.
> 
> «My apologies for the delay,» he comm’d, a slightly playful tone to the words. «Have I missed anything important?»

Prowl

> In the time since Tarantulas last visited, Prowl had moved. He was, for the first time, laying on his back on the cell’s berth, instead of crouching curled up against the wall.
> 
> Of course, he’d moved a lot more than  _that_  since Tarantulas’s last visit. To the top of the tower and back.
> 
> As mentally stifling as the cell has been, Prowl’s spent his time productively. Tying up loose ends, making new alliances… investigating Tarantulas. There are so many, many little things to investigate. How deeply Tarantulas got himself tangled up in Shockwave’s ore project, whether or not it led him to involvement in Dark Cybertron, what ties he might have to chaos-aligned entities of either this universe or any other, what universe he was actually from… So far, Prowl hadn’t been able to perform most of his tests yes. However, he’d dug enough to learn that Tarantulas definitely  _wasn’t_  from this universe. And that, somewhere out there,  _his_  Springer was alive and active.
> 
> If that was the case, though—then why was he here? Why had he promised to wake up Prowl’s? Was that just a ruse to get Prowl on his side?
> 
> Those weren’t questions Prowl had any intention of asking, of course. For Prowl’s investigation to run smoothly, Tarantulas couldn’t be permitted to find out any of Prowl’s suspicions. For now? The next time Tarantulas visited, Prowl would act as though he knew no more about Tarantulas now than he had the last time he’d visited.
> 
> The familiar alien form descending from the ceiling caught Prowl’s gaze; he turned his helm to watch Tarantulas’s progress. «A meeting with Starscream. Whether or not that’s  _important_  depends on whether or not you care about Cybertron’s politics.»
> 
> Then he sat upright, swinging his legs down onto the cell floor; it would send the wrong impression to be languidly lying down while talking to Tarantulas, not to mention how vulnerable the position left him. Getting to leave his cell for his meeting with Starscream had let his head clear up a bit, and knowing where he was going now had refocused him. The uncanny feeling was leaving; his mind was sharp again. This time, he would handle this meeting properly.
> 
> «You obtained the files and the spare dataslug?»

Tarantulas

> The fact that Prowl was lying on his back wasn’t missed by Tarantulas, but he chalked it up to back pain. Which - he’d have to remember to ask about again later. For now, business, it seemed.
> 
> «I care sufficiently enough about it to ask how it went,» he comm’d, finally reaching the floor. If he were perfectly honest, he cared enough about  _Prowl_ to care about politics, technically. «What happened? News first, then I’ll gladly hand over the slugs.» 
> 
> He’d have been less interested in exchanging information if he knew what all Prowl was thinking about, all the suspicions he had, but for now, ignorance was bliss.
> 
> Hmm. Now, whether or not to shift and transform. Prowl might find him less threatening in spider form, but might take him more seriously as a mech… Hm. Easier to handle data in mech form. There we go.
> 
> Seconds after reaching the floor, the tiny tarantula had morphed up into a full mech, who proceeded to casually step back and lean against the wall opposite Prowl. No sitting - not enough room, not with all these legs. Besides, better to fidget standing up.

Prowl

> «If you care about getting my medical records, then you  _should_  be gladly handing over the slugs, whether I describe my meeting or not.»
> 
> But, Prowl stood more to gain from sharing the information than to lose, and he’d fully intended on sharing it with Tarantulas anyway. He just wanted to make sure Tarantulas knew he was getting this information not because Tarantulas had twisted Prowl’s arm by holding his data hostage, but because Prowl had decided to freely give it to him. So—
> 
> «As punishment for my prior actions, I—and the Constructicons—will be in charge of rebuilding what Devastator destroyed. We’re due to be relocated out of our cells and to shared quarters within the next few days. Devastator will also be undergoing a test to prove to Starscream that, when he’s not under emotional duress, he can behave himself and obey orders like any other mech. If he passes—and he will—then we’ll be permitted to combine, to assist in our reconstruction efforts.»
> 
> That was, of course, only half of what he’d arranged with Starscream. Half of his job was going to be much more important, and much deeper in the shadows. But what the public wasn’t going to know, Tarantulas didn’t need to know. Not yet. Not until Prowl was sure the information wouldn’t get repeated to someone who shouldn’t have it.

Tarantulas

> «You’re so  _tense_. Of course I’m going to give them to you, I’d just like to be updated first.» 
> 
> Hmm, alright. From the sound of it (and oh how Tarantulas wished he knew more about the subject), those restrictions would chafe, but eventually the combiner and his components would be in relatively ideal conditions. Strangely enough, Tarantulas was eager to meet Devastator someday. He should start planning a way to do that - Prowl probably wouldn’t approve of such a thing upfront.
> 
> A keen gaze as he processed the implications. «That sounds reasonable enough. But Starscream is wasting your abilities if that’s all he’ll have you doing.» 

Prowl

> «I’m not tense. I’m clarifying where we stand.» In fact, in all the time he’d spent in this damn cell, this was probably the least tense he’d been. His plan had worked, better than he had hoped. His position was as secure as it could be. He had work to do and plans to make. He could finally, hesitantly, start to relax.
> 
> «Starscream would rather see my abilities wasted than give me more opportunities to use them against him. To him, I’m a criminal and a security risk; I’m fortunate to have obtained this much latitude. I’ll gain the rest with time, once I’ve proven to him that I am a greater asset than threat to him..»
> 
> A flicker of a wry look at Tarantulas. «Besides—I’m certain that by _your_ standards, _everyone_  but you is wasting my abilities.»

Tarantulas

> Maybe terse would have been a better word - but even then, that was just Prowl’s temperament, something Tarantulas would never cease rubbing the wrong way. …The thought conjured the sensation of fur petted in reverse, making Tarantulas shiver a little in sympathy.
> 
> Hm. What Prowl said made sense at face value, but still. Tarantulas was fairly certain he wasn’t telling the whole truth about the situation. Time would tell.
> 
> «You  _are_  a criminal and a security risk. You say it as if it were a bad thing.» Wry look returned.  «But I digress. You’re correct. And we’ll put those abilities to good use, provided you allow me the privilege.» 
> 
> Yes, don’t lose sight of the fact you told him Springer was the goal. Even though that was a hook, and both of them knew it.

Prowl

> «I say it as if it’s a fact. Which it is.» It  _was_  a bad thing, though—the criminal half. But there was no point dwelling on that. He’d done far worse things than blowing up a bridge, and he’d locked his feelings on those incidents away, and he’d lock his feelings on this incident away too. They were irrelevant to his duties.
> 
> «I’m allowing you nothing yet. I have committed  _only_  to helping Springer. Do not get ahead of yourself.»

Tarantulas

> Yes, they both knew very well that it was a fact. The only difference was that Tarantulas didn’t have quite the same compunctions about it as Prowl.
> 
> Ah. An internal sigh of disappointment. «That’s why I said  _provided you allow it_. I understand completely.» Unfortunately.  
> 
> Maybe handing off this information would pique Prowl’s curiosity enough to keep him around and eventually win him over. Tarantulas would do anything, anything. 
> 
> One step at a time, though. Poke him for information first.
> 
> «So you’ll be relocated. Will you have permission to move about freely as well? Pursue other plans?» 

Prowl

> «He has not explicitly said either way, but I’m sure not. Starscream will want to keep a close optic on me. He’s already said that he’s taking a couple of days to move us into our new quarters because, and I quote, “If I’m going to set up surveillance that you won’t immediatelyfind, I’ll need that much time to get it done.”» A quick smirk. «He’s not going to  _stop_  me from pursuing other plans, of course. But that doesn’t mean I’ll have permission.»
> 
> A pause. «… I trust that you’ll be able to locate Starscream’s surveillance system and inform me where and how it’s set up?» He’s not willing to trust Tarantulas, no; but he is willing to take advantage of his services as an eager asset.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had to take care not to laugh aloud at Starscream’s admission. «Clever. And fair enough, I suppose. If I were him I wouldn’t trust you either, but there’s a difference between keeping a leash on someone and straightjacketing them. Once you prove yourself, you’ll have the chain loosened, it sounds like.»
> 
> A pause for thought. «Most likely… I might need to be updated on some of the higher level tech since I’ve been off on a research tangent lately, but that’s easily done.» There, he’d given his best go at being honest with Prowl without admitting he wasn’t as acquainted with this universe’s tech as his own.
> 
> After a moment Tarantulas looked at Prowl, more curious than before. «…You’ve probably learned some rather interesting things while you were on the Lost Light. I ought to coax you into sharing some of that with me sometime.» More open than he needed to be about his intentions, but somehow it felt better than being backhanded about it.

Prowl

> Tarantulas  _didn’t_  trust Prowl, though. He trusted him more than he should, yes, but not enough to cross the threshold into  _actual_  trust.
> 
> «I’m not exactly in a position to provide detailed intel on current surveillance technology.» He was hardly about to, for instance, comm up Red Alert and ask for all the latest developments. Even if Prowl  _could_  get his servos on that information, that wasn’t something he wanted to hand over to Tarantulas. Autobot surveillance tech was undoubtedly different from whatever Starscream had on hand, anyway. «You’ll have to make do with your own best judgment.»
> 
> No reply besides a stony face. Prowl didn’t need to tell Tarantulas how much he was not planning on being coaxed into any such thing. Instead, he simply held out a hand, palm up. They’d talked. He wanted his slugs now.

Tarantulas

> «I’ll do my best.» As always, of course. Prowl’s response about the tech wasn’t surprising - Tarantulas hadn’t expected any help from him on the subject. At least it’d give him something to do in the coming days, something to study up on, something for his restless processor to devour.
> 
> Prowl’s subsequent expression and outstretched hand had Tarantulas chittering with amusement.  «Tsk tsk. So demanding.» He pulled the data slugs out of his subspace anyway and stepped forward to drop the empty one into Prowl’s hand. It was a rather nondescript little thing, although clearly new and unused - free of traces of data that might have lingered from past transfers.
> 
> «You first. I’ll hand over my data whenever you’re done.» A pause, then:  «When does the next guard come through?» 

Prowl

> «Says the mech who refused to hand anything over until after asking about a meeting that was none of his business.»
> 
> He held the data slug up to examine it. It  _looked_  new—but anything could be made to look new. «About eight and a half minutes.» If it took longer than that for Prowl to finish the data transfer, then this would be the most pathetically slow data slug Tarantulas could have possibly picked up.
> 
> Prowl popped open an abdominal port, felt around blindly with his free hand until he located it—he couldn’t see it from this angle and his body had been reformatted since the last time he needed it, and plugged the slug in. A thorough scan first to ensure that there were no hidden viruses or mechanisms to remotely transmit his data anywhere, and then he began the transfer.

Tarantulas

> «It  _is_  my business. My ally’s situational standing is plenty relevant to me.» Saying the word “ally” almost pained Tarantulas - as if their relationship were merely one of information or convenience. That was the last thing he wanted.
> 
> «Alright, that -» Tarantulas cut off, only barely catching himself from doing a comical double take. An  _abdominal_  port? What in Primus’ name did Prowl think he was doing, flashing himself open like that so brazenly? Had Tarantulas completely misunderstood their level of intimacy? Maybe this universe had a different conception of what was socially permissible…?
> 
> Not that he was complaining though - those few moments in which Prowl was fumbling around gave him a lovely view of those ports, And the way the data slug just  _clicked_ in there - nngh. Tarantulas did his best not to ogle too much, but he couldn’t possibly draw his gaze away from Prowl’s access panel.
> 
> Thank Primus he managed to reset his vocalizer without it clicking. «That sounds sufficient. Even if you’ve got as much data as I have, it should take less than half that, given you have a sufficient upload rate. But you already know by now, I’m sure.»

Prowl

> «Hm.» Prowl supposed he couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t even claim that they weren’t allies. At least until they fixed Springer, that was exactly what they were.
> 
> Prowl couldn’t possibly have missed the way Tarantulas suddenly fell silent. He looked up, puzzled, to catch Tarantulas openly staring at his abdomen. Why? Was such an action inappropriate in his timeline? He could understand Tarantulas’s reaction if Prowl had decided to use his interfacing port—he’d interacted with enough other universes to know that, for some reason, the majority of them were uncomfortable with anything even vaguely related to interfacing—but this was a bit extreme. How had Tarantulas  _expected_  Prowl to transfer the data? By telepathically beaming the data straight from his processor into the slug?
> 
> Next time he’d wave Tarantulas out of the room first. For now, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees and forearms crossed, to try to shield the sight. If Tarantulas was uncomfortable watching, then Prowl was uncomfortable being watched.
> 
> «Of course I have a sufficient upload rate.» A quick check indicated that it would take about two and a half minutes to upload all Prowl’s data. Sorry Tarantulas, it appears you’re getting a bit less than you’re giving.

Tarantulas

> No, what Tarantulas had been expecting was for Prowl to use some sort of wrist or arm port, but nevermind that now. If Prowl was going to be open about this, Tarantulas was going to go with it as best he could. No reason to raise more suspicion than he already had. Unless he went ahead and told Prowl the truth… but…
> 
> Shame, how Prowl leaned forward. Tarantulas was forced to tear his gaze away and back to Prowl’s face.
> 
> …And yes, of course Tarantulas was getting less than he was giving. The complexities of their frames were… incomparable. 
> 
> «Goodness Prowl, always so resistant to a little facetiousness.» Tarantulas continued leaning back, one pede tapping silently against the cell floor.  «Do you want to process my files while I’m still here, or would you rather I leave? You’re free to ask questions if I remain.» 

Prowl

> Part of Prowl wanted to ask how such transfers were handled in Tarantulas’s timeline; but no, he wasn’t going to tip Tarantulas off to what he knew.
> 
> _Facetiousness_. A blink. «… Mm.» He hadn’t caught that Tarantulas was being facetious. It hadn’t come across that way. Had Prowl missed something in his tone?
> 
> Well, never mind that for now. He’d relearn how to read Tarantulas’s voice eventually.
> 
> «No, I don’t think so. I’ll process them once you’re gone.» He hesitated; and then said, carefully, «Besides, I… have another matter. To discuss. While you’re here.»

Tarantulas

> Facetious, in that he knew Prowl’s upload and download rates had to be  _more_  than sufficient. Not as good as Tarantulas’ boosted rates, but Prowl didn’t have a Hubcap to help with that.
> 
> Aww, another shame. Tarantulas had been looking forward to showing off for Prowl. But what was this? Prowl definitely had Tarantulas’ full attention now. What could he possibly want to discuss with him that had him articulating like that?
> 
> Eight smaller optics and one visor focused intently on Prowl, trying to guess in advance. «And that would be?» 

Prowl

> Prowl looked down at his pedes. «I have—difficulty recharging, without my…» he struggled for a moment, searching for an appropriate phrase, and finally settled on, «green morons.» Perfectly accurate.
> 
> «Naturally, with my recharge disrupted, my abilities suffer. I  _had_  a sleep aid that compensated for the absence, but I left it on the  _Lost Light_  when I departed. Prematurely, it would seem.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas snickered across the commlink at the epithet. «Hyeh, That makes sense, Devastator’s programming most likely necessitates it as a survival method. He’s in danger of extinction without your communal proximity.»
> 
> Tarantulas had stopped fidgeting for a moment, but once his processor got working it began again. «Hm. An override device? Or maybe a spark signal generator? I could construct you either of those if you have the spark frequency or frequencies to install, however that works.» 

Prowl

> «Mm. Something like that.» Prowl didn’t know which it was—whether it was some sort of deliberate self-preservation mechanism, or just an unintended side-effect—but either way the result was the same.
> 
> «A spark signal generator,» Prowl confirmed. Staring even more determinedly at his pedes, he added in a mutter, «And… I don’t want a new one. I—I want _mine_  back.» Voice raised again, he hurried onward, «I’ve already contacted Rodimus. He’s agreed to let me reclaim it. But he cannot enter Iacon and, obviously, I cannot leave. I need somebody to deliver it.»

Tarantulas

> There’s nothing “unintended,” Prowl. Simply things that aren’t explained yet. Hasn’t Tarantulas taught you anything?
> 
> «I’ve never heard you being sentimental like this, Prowl,» Tarantulas teased.  «Are you sure you can’t simply do with a new one? You’ll be with your “green morons” soon enough anyhow.» 
> 
> «If you insist on getting yours back, why should I be the one to go get it anyhow? It’s not as if I’m exactly inconspicuous. …Have you told Rodimus about me? And what of other allies, don’t you have anyone else to serve as mere  _couriers_?» Tarantulas was almost offended at the demotion.
> 
> More importantly though, he wasn’t one to go out on errands very often. The more time spent in familiar areas the better. Anywhere else unusual or new always felt… prickly. He couldn’t exactly explain why.

Prowl

> An explanation is not intent; the fact that forces varying from gravity to glitches can cause demonstrable, measurable, predictable results does not mean they deliberately set out to do so. Hasn’t Prowl rubbed off on you yet?
> 
> «It’s not  _sentimental!_  I— That’s—» An indignant harrumph. « _Yes_ , I’ll be with them soon. Probably sooner than you’ll be able to retrieve the spark signal generator. However, I wouldn’t put it past Starscream to separate us from each other as a punitive measure. Should that ever happen, I will need a back-up tool to ensure that, at the very least, I am able to continue recharging while we’re separated. Any scenario in which Starscream separates us is a scenario that’s dangerous for me and my objectives; I cannot afford to simultaneously suffer from stunted mental capabilities due to a lack of recharge.»
> 
> A quick optic roll, as if this should be obvious. «None of my other allies can shrink themselves to infinitesimally small points, are coated in attention deflectors, or possess the ability to flawlessly evade spark and EM field scanners. If you  _object_  to assisting, then fine, I can find another agent to do it; but it will put my agent and myself in more danger than is necessary.
> 
> «No, I have not specifically told Rodimus about  _you_  yet—but in our conversation I said that I would contact and provide someone who could retrieve the device from him. You may contact him and arrange the meeting yourself; I’m sure he won’t want to meet with a stranger on the  _Lost Light_.»

Tarantulas

> Don’t make Tarantulas get philosophical on you. There’s no intent in the multiverse, only the Specimen. Hence, explanations are both necessary and sufficient.
> 
> And - hah. Tarantulas caught you on your sentimentality - or on a lie, or  _something_ , who knows. He won’t gloat, though. He’s too distracted by your backhanded praise.
> 
> «I should think you ought to get new allies then, if they’re that incapable of small tasks.» Tarantulas gazed down at a raised claw, inspecting it somewhat disdainfully. «I still think it might be foolish to reveal myself to someone as… well, someone like Rodimus. If it’s what you want, though.» 
> 
> Vaguely discernible over comm, he mumbled something about it being easier and quicker to just make a new one, but it seemed like Prowl wouldn’t be dissuaded.

Prowl

> «You expect my allies to possess abilities  _you invented_  yourself?» Prowl snorted. «I’m flattered that you think so highly of my agents’ capabilities, but we’re not  _that_  good.»
> 
> Data transfer done. Prowl unplugged the slug—keeping one arm in front of his abdomen to shield himself as he did—and held it out to Tarantulas. «I though you’d  _leap_  at the opportunity to communicate with one of my allies without my interfering,» he said dryly. «Why is he, specifically, someone you’re so concerned about? You expressed no such concern in interacting with my other associates.»

Tarantulas

> «There’s such a thing as convergent evolution. I try my best not to underestimate other people, thank you very much.»
> 
> Prowl was learning, at least a little, covering himself like that. Tarantulas had very little doubt Prowl was already assuming he wasn’t from around here. Tarantulas gave an internal sigh and stepped forward away from the wall to take the data slug, not offering the other one just yet.
> 
> A squinty pause before he answered. «There’s a very distinct difference between interacting via comm versus in person. Tell me you weren’t at least somewhat alarmed and disgusted when you first saw this form.» 
> 
> He wasn’t going to mention that he thought Rodimus was a capricious fool of a Prime who didn’t deserve his trust. That sounded… rude.

Prowl

> «Really. How gracious of you.» He kept his hand extended once he let go of the slug, palm up. He’d handed over his part, Tarantulas’s turn now.
> 
> Prowl wouldn’t tell Tarantulas that. Why lie when it wasn’t necessary? «So send him a picture before you meet. I’m given to understand that Rodimus finds organics attractive; he may well think the same of Cybertronians with organic components.»

Tarantulas

> Someday Tarantulas’ playful stubbornness was going to get him in trouble.- he hoped that wouldn’t be today. He withheld the slug just a little longer, as if he hadn’t seen Prowl’s hand outstretched still.
> 
> «Attracted to organics, hmm? I suppose I have a fighting chance then.» 
> 
> He still didn’t want to go. He really didn’t. What other excuses could he come up with? He was drawing a blank…
> 
> «…Hmn. I’ll go. But I feel as if you owe me something for it.» 
> 
> Tarantulas’ claw caught on the receiving end of Prowl’s data slug as he fiddled with it, suddenly reminding him it hadn’t been fully retracted. Primus - he - the attachment had been  _inside Prowl_. Tarantulas shivered and held the slug a little tighter.

Prowl

> Prowl’s optics narrowed and he gestured with his fingers. From his perspective, Tarantulas’s “playfulness” looks like reluctance to uphold their bargain. «I suggest you hand over that slug before I conclude that you never had any intention of making a fair trade.»
> 
> Fine. If it took a bribe to get Tarantulas to meet with Rodimus and retrieve that generator, Prowl would bribe him. «Very well, I’ll owe you. I’ll pay you back _after_  you’ve delivered the generator. And I don’t mean after you’ve purportedly retrieved it, visited me, and then held it just out of my reach while you do everything  _except_  hand it over like a reasonable person.» No more of this nonsense—payment for services that had yet to be rendered, and then sitting there with his hand outstretched waiting like a moron. Clearly, he’d presumed too much about Tarantulas’s willingness to cooperate when he’d handed his slug over first. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas almost laughed at Prowl’s irritation, but the way the mech went on made Tarantulas start to take things a little more seriously. He clicked his mandibles together silently, tilting his helm a fraction.
> 
> «Oh Prowl, don’t get your cables in a twist.» Step, tnk, there went the data slug into Prowl’s hand. «When have I ever shown myself to be a reasonable person? Besides, I wasn’t planning on holding onto it for forever, just long enough to… run a test.» 
> 
> «…By the way, do you think they’ll search you anytime between now and the time you get your own quarters? You might want to process the data now and give me that slug back if there’s a chance.» 

Prowl

> «Was the test to find out how limited my patience is? Now you know.» He curled his fingers around the data slug and withdrew his hand.
> 
> He considered Tarantulas’s suggestion. Tarantulas  _could_  have ulterior motives for encouraging Prowl to plug that in immediately—and it could be anything from the slug containing malevolent code to a desire to watch him plug it in again. Prowl was more concerned about the former. If he wanted to destroy Prowl and leave no evidence, what simpler method than to trick him into uploading a virus into his own system, and then leaving with the murder weapon, to let the guards discover a mysterious locked-door death?
> 
> Typically, Prowl wouldn’t worry about viruses; most were incompatible with his brain module. But Tarantulas was one of the few people who might know how to write something that could worm around Prowl’s natural defenses.
> 
> But, his reasoning was sound. Prowl had a few attention deflectors installed on pockets in his armor, but those attention deflectors had been made to fool mechs in a universe where Cybertron’s technological development lagged a couple million years behind theirs. He didn’t know if they would work on Starscream’s goons, and if they didn’t then he didn’t want to be caught with anything worse than a handful of desk knickknacks.
> 
> After a moment of thought, he unplugged his comm unit, and plugged the data slug into it. He wouldn’t upload the file into himself; just transmit it to somebody else who could check it for any suspicious code.

Tarantulas

> _Destroy Prowl?_  Prowl had  **no** idea just how foreign that idea would be to Tarantulas’ mind. He was so blindly dedicated to him he couldn’t possibly imagine it, even if Prowl threw him into another sensory prison again, outright tried to kill him, or tortured and manipulated him into a miserable mess. It wouldn’t make a difference. He wouldn’t hurt Prowl like that.
> 
> Tarantulas watched Prowl remove his comm unit with skeptical optics before he realized what was happening. Damn him. Transferring the files off to someone else, probably Soundwave… Something he should have expected, but it took him off guard that it’d happened so soon. Prowl hadn’t even downloaded a single byte.
> 
> And Tarantulas couldn’t contact him in the meantime, not until Prowl got around to putting the unit back in again.
> 
> So he sulked, squatting down where he’d stood against the wall, arms folded in front of him. The guard would come by soon, something he hoped Prowl would remember. He’d kick him in the leg if it came to it.

Prowl

> He remembered. He still had a timer going on. Transferring the file through his comm unit was far slower than uploading it directly would have been; when the guard was approaching, Prowl laced his hands together, comm unit hidden between them, and let his hands dangle between his knees.
> 
> Fortunately for Tarantulas, Prowl’s comm unit allows for texting as well, for circumstances like this one. Once the guard was past, he tapped out a message: « _I apologize for the delay._ »

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was getting slightly annoyed at having to keep an optic on when the guards were coming by, but as always, he held still and counted down until the mech was gone.
> 
> Oh. Good. This Prowl had the sense to install text mods on his comm unit. Some bots never cared to get around to doing so - it seemed primitive to them.
> 
> « _Forgiven._ » He comm’d text as well for ease of reading, just in case. « _Not everyone has the transfer rates I do._ »
> 
> If Tarantulas could smirk, he’d be doing so now. Ridiculously smugly. He was still sulking, but at least this took the edge off it.

Prowl

> Prowl wasn’t going to dignify that with a response, just a deadpan look. (And he was  _absolutely not_  going to think about those data transfer rates.)
> 
> The upload finished; Prowl removed the data slug and slid his comm unit back into place. There was nothing else he could do with the data now until Soundwave cleared it and sent it back, so he offered the slug back to Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> The deadpan look, devoid of emotion as it was, was plenty to have Tarantulas chittering quietly in amusement.
> 
> Still crouched against the wall, he raised his arm as if to take the slug despite the distance he couldn’t quite reach. However, he proceeded to shoot silk instead - then one tug, and the data slug was retrieved. Indeed, the epitome of laziness.
> 
> «I hope the recipient of my files has the competence to review them properly, otherwise I’ll just be offended.» 

Prowl

> Prowl jerked his hand back, and then quickly suppressed the urge to chuckle. How many times had he seen Mesothulas absentmindedly fire a grappling hook at some piece of equipment he needed from halfway across the room? How many times had he knocked over the equipment instead and had to trudge across the room, muttering to himself, to check it for damage? Often enough that Prowl had started predicting whether he would hook his desired object or knock it over before the hook was halfway to its destination…
> 
> Prowl supposed that wasn’t happening anymore. He curled his hand shut, and pulled it back to cross his forearms again.
> 
> «No reviewing will be done. I’m only having the files scanned, and sent back to me if they’re clean. A precaution.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had made the series of actions on reflex, unaware of the effect this would have on Prowl. But no, it wouldn’t be happening anymore, even if they  _did_ end up working together - Tarantulas’ aim had improved over the millennia, and the precision with which the silk worked was far more effective than grappling hooks had ever been.
> 
> «Are you quite sure they won’t view or tamper with the files? Not that I’m particularly concerned for myself, moreso for the spread and quality of information you’ll be receiving.» 

Prowl

> «I’m quite certain that  _it_  will perform the function it has been programmed to do, as it has been since it was set up.» Let Tarantulas think he was using some remote computer system somewhere, rather than a person. 
> 
> In any case, Prowl had noted the exact number of bytes sent out. If Soundwave  _did_  edit the file, Prowl would know when he got it back.

Tarantulas

> Squint squint. Was he wrong about Soundwave being the recipient? Somehow Tarantulas doubted that Prowl would toss the files off to a mere computer to analyze if he was that paranoid about uploading them into his own system. In any case, he’d still function under the assumption that at least  _someone_  had the material.
> 
> Good thing he’d redacted bits. Not enough for Prowl to get mad at him, he hoped, but enough to give him some exclusivity on the information.
> 
> «As you say. If you trust  _it_ , I suppose I’ll have to do the same.» Why was it always trust this, trust that? Bah.
> 
> Trust. Something he really had to decide how much he wanted to give to Prowl, and how much he could drag out of Prowl in return.
> 
> Primus, why did all this have to be so slagging  _hard_? Why did he constantly have to dance around every subject, avoid giving away details, hide and manufacture emotions, fabricate lies, then explain others away? There was only so much he could take. His processor was meant to reveal the truths of the universe, not conceal them and deceive others about them.
> 
> All he wanted was to work with Prowl again. Maybe a little more than that, too, but that could be worked on once the basics had been established. But how could he establish the basics by attacking the situation this way?
> 
> Tarantulas was unaware he’d gone off on a mental tangent for quite some time, staring off into the corner of the cell.

Prowl

> Squint away, Prowl’s poker face betrays nothing. «I suppose you will.»
> 
> Fortunately for Tarantulas, Prowl didn’t notice that he was distracted, because Prowl had just become distracted himself. He’d received back [the files](http://aranea-mechanica.tumblr.com/post/148972072574/chimeracon000xyx) from Soundwave, and now he was… fairly thoroughly engrossed. He’d started transforming Tarantulas’s model back and forth, slowly, studying how each piece moves and connects to the whole…
> 
> When Tarantulas snaps out of his gloomy musings, he’ll probably catch Prowl staring vaguely at nothing, optics slightly too bright.

Tarantulas

> It took a while for Tarantulas to realize Prowl had gone quiet as well - but when he did, his mood improved drastically. Prowl was obviously consuming the returned data voraciously, those bright optics an indicator of rapt attention and, if Tarantulas guessed correctly, awe.
> 
> He let Prowl have some intimate time alone with the data before he spoke up again. «Questions welcomed, as I said. The files are rather thorough though, I’ll admit.» 

Prowl

> Prowl sat up slightly, quickly closing out the files. «No, that’s… unnecessary. Everything seems self-explanatory.» Except for the parts that Prowl flat-out couldn’t comprehend, but that was due to his lack of medical knowledge, not due to any lack of clarity in the materials.

Tarantulas

> Well, and lack of information as well. Prowl would suss out the redacted bits soon enough, and there would be questions. Hopefully not too invasive ones.
> 
> Tarantulas preened a little. «I tried my best. I doubt you’ll afford me the same courtesy, but I’ll sort things out myself the best I can.» Clearly, Tarantulas intended to download the data later instead of in the moment.
> 
> Fidget fidget. Damnit, now that he’d been thinking about the whole deception thing, he couldn’t suppress the impulse to suddenly throw everything on the table. Stupid, stupid. He’d already given Prowl more than he’d gotten in return - why give him any more?
> 
> …But why not?

Prowl

> Prowl snorted. «I wouldn’t be surprised if you can make more sense of my records than I can.» He had, in fact, sent Tarantulas his actual medical records—as in the files used as reference by the medics that treated Prowl, not something designed for Prowl’s own reference. Prowl could understand the documents fairly well, of course—they  _were_  concerning his own medical matters—but they were written by doctors and for doctors, not for him.
> 
> His medical records included detailed specs for his original frame—just a copy of the blueprints from which his frametype had been mass produced—and copious notes about how his differed from the norm, most of those notes concerning his most recent combiner modifications. The main medical records included every check-up, tune-up, and repair he’d ever received, from his post-construction physical to First Aid’s checkup and treatment for his insomnia (the prescription: a heating tarp and thermal patch over his temperature regulator). It also had a running file with his baseline vitals, normal statistics such as his spark type, and ongoing medical issues any new medic would need to know about him: a tendency for his processor to overheat, a necessity for frequent t-cog tuneups because of a malformation that stresses it (malformation left unrepaired at patient’s request), an inability to ingest solids in any form, potential sensory processing disorder (later struck out), anosmia…
> 
> Naturally, much of the records are redacted. A good sixty percent of the notes on his blueprints—particularly the combiner modifications—he removed at random. He’d taken out all of his pre-war records, and over ninety percent of his wartime ones—mostly because they were repetitive mandatory checkups with no new information, sometimes because they described massive injuries and the repairs done. And half of his list of ongoing medical issues was removed too, including his anosmia, inability to eat solids, and t-cog.
> 
> Not things, by and large, that he actually didn’t want Tarantulas to know. But many of them were things that Tarantulas  _should already_  have known, if he was native. Prowl had already determined that he wasn’t from here, yes; but he didn’t want to give Tarantulas any tools that would make it easier for him to keep pretending he was from here.

Tarantulas

> Once Tarantulas got his figurative claws on the data, he’d have a fabulous time sorting it out and patching over the gaps in information. Some of it he’d be able to fill in on his own with knowledge of his own Prowl, but others he might end up asking about eventually.
> 
> «What, you haven’t taken the time to ingest the proper materials for comprehending your own frame? Goodness Prowl, I’m disappointed. Tsk tsk. No sense of curiosity or inquiry.» 
> 
> Knowing more about Prowl’s frame than he did would give Tarantulas an advantage over him, in some respects. Which would maybe compensate for the information he was about to divulge.
> 
> He couldn’t sit still anymore - he had to get up and move around. Still mech mode, no reason to change, and no mass shifting even though he strangely felt the urge. Just straightening up in place and flexing his back legs nervously in imitation of wings or doors, trying to decide whether he wanted to pace or not. It was obvious he was unsettled.
> 
> And how, oh,  _how_ to begin. 

Prowl

> «I know my  _frame_  perfectly well. It’s the  _files_  on them I can’t fully decipher. I’m not a medic.» Tarantulas would figure it out once he looked at the files.
> 
> Tarantulas was getting more restless—he was twitching more than he had been earlier. Was he preparing to leave? Or just nervous? What about? Prowl’s best prediction was the data transfer to a third party.

Tarantulas

> «To be fair, neither am I, as was duly noted last time we met.» He was still salty about Hook, that much was clear.
> 
> Tarantulas’ mandibles bruxed together, just loud enough to hear over the buzzing of the energy field. «…How long do we have until the next guard?» A pause, a flicker of his visor, then: «I have something to tell you.»

Prowl

> _That_  caught his attention. What could Tarantulas possibly be so nervous about telling him? Prowl was already putting together a list; most of the top possibilities were distasteful. «Five minutes. What is it?»
> 
> Please don’t let him drag this out the way he had dragged out handing over the data slug.

Tarantulas

> OK, five minutes would be plenty long enough for Prowl to get over the initial shock - that was, if he hadn’t suspected it already. Part of Tarantulas wanted to startle him, but he was fairly certain Prowl wasn’t that stupid not to have guessed already.
> 
> After a bit more indecisive fidgeting, Tarantulas finally comm’d him. You’re welcome, Prowl, this time he got straight to the point.
> 
> «…I’m not your native Mesothulas.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the awkward cutoff - the RP is reeeeally long...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has some questions; Tarantulas offers some answers; one of them ends up dissatisfied.

> «… _I’m not your native Mesothulas_.»

Prowl

> «… Hm.» A slow, thoughtful nod. «I must admit—I’m surprised.» He smirked thinly. «I didn’t think you’d confess until either you were confident you had irrevocably secured a satisfactory alliance with me, or until you’d been blatantly caught in your lie.»
> 
> That had been third on his list of possible confessions, and the least objectionable one.
> 
> He laced his servos together, elbows propped on his knees. Good. Now that that was out of the way, they could have an actual conversation instead of dancing around the truth. «Why are you  _here_ , then? Instead of with your own Prowl and Springer?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas squinted his visor as Prowl started off - surprised? Really? But of course. Prowl had to go and be all logical about it. At least Tarantulas had  _somewhat_ defied Prowl’s expectations. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but now it was out there, and he couldn’t take it back.
> 
> He shifted from one pede to the other. «It’s a good thing you’re already acquainted with the multiverse. That was nice to hear based on your experiences on the Lost Light. Less explaining for me to do.»
> 
> Another protracted pause. Now that he’d told Prowl the basic truth, he was strangely reluctant to elaborate on the details. «…My plans in my native universe didn’t unfold the way I’d hoped.»

Prowl

> “Really.” Prowl’s posture remained unchanged. His optics, for the first time, were fully focused on Tarantulas’s face, unwavering, trying to pick up every little cue he could from Tarantulas’s expressions. He wouldn’t be able to read much, no, but at least he’d had some practice with Mesothulas. “Elaborate.”

Tarantulas

> The way Prowl had him pinned there with his gaze made Tarantulas squirm. All that processing power focused solely on him. Scanning, calculating, deducing. He couldn’t decide if he was perturbed or excited.
> 
> _Now_  he started pacing in earnest, if only to get away from those keen optics. «My native Prowl wouldn’t agree to work with me again.» Yes, right, skim over the part where you kidnapped and blackmailed him. «I made myself known to Ostaros as well, but he didn’t need me; in fact, he didn’t want anything to do with me.» 

Prowl

> And he was still so difficult to read. Nervousness? Fear? Anger? No, probably not anger—frustration?
> 
> Prowl doubted that Tarantulas would explain why Prowl’s alternate wouldn’t work with him—after all, he undoubtedly feared that if Prowl knew the reasons, he’d make the same decision. But, all the same, he had to ask. «And why wouldn’t my alternate agree to work with you?» He expected to receive a lie or no answer at all.

Tarantulas

> Maybe a little frustration, maybe nervousness and fear, but whatever else was bubbling up in Tarantulas was morphing into an unexpected high that fed off the relief and excess emotion in his systems. His visor never focused anywhere for long, and he brought a claw up to the opposite arm to stabilize himself as he steadily paced.
> 
> «He’s… different than you, in some respects. I don’t know how to properly articulate it. And Ostaros had already woken from his coma.» Prowl would have to accept half-truths for now.

Prowl

> « _Attempt_  to articulate it.» He understood that his alternates were different from him—he was downright humiliated to share a, whatever it was, a cross-verse link with some of them—but he still needed to know the differences.
> 
> A pause; and then, more tentatively, he asked, «How did he wake up?» If they could replicate that…

Tarantulas

> A slightly annoyed squint in Prowl’s direction. «Be mindful that I’m more likely to cooperate if you refrain from  _commanding_ me.» 
> 
> «But, he… is more uptight. More disillusioned.» Good enough - he wasn’t going to say any more. 
> 
> «And I don’t know precisely. It didn’t involve me. And Ostaros himself either wasn’t willing to tell me or he simply didn’t know.» A moment before Tarantulas additionally realized, «That  _doesn’t_  mean I’m not confident I can treat him in this universe, however.»

Prowl

> Okay,  _that_  facial expression Prowl read just fine. He sat back slightly, his only concession of the point.
> 
> A snort. « _More_  disillusioned. Really.» That was almost as impressive as it was depressing. But… believable. He himself had come close to being worse than he currently was. No—he himself  _had_  been worse than he currently was. And he could be so again. An alternate could easily have gone darker.
> 
> As for the uptight bit? Well. If Tarantulas hadn’t made the mistake of shrinking himself past the point of visibility and crawling about on Prowl’s alternate’s plating, he  _could_  have maintained that illusion.

> «Are there no medical records? No reports you could look up?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t respond to the snort and disbelieving comment. Prowl could think what he liked - that was just how Tarantulas saw it. He continued to pace.
> 
> «The only medical records I could retrieve were mere vitals and processor activity with intermittent notes. For a while Ostaros was almost offline, but apparently someone _reading_  to him brought him back to baseline.» Tarantulas was clearly not buying that explanation. «Records cut off just before the time I estimate he regained consciousness, and nothing seemed out of the usual.»

Prowl

> «He  _was_  read to. That’s not what stabilized him. But try telling Wreckers that.»
> 
> A silent sigh. «Why do you care about my Springer at all, then? Why not be content knowing that yours is alive and well? Do you plan on hopping universe to universe, waking up all the ones that are still asleep? Or do you only care about this one because volunteering to wake him up got me on your side?»
> 
> He knew he didn’t want to know the answer; but, reluctantly, he asked, «Where’s  _my_  Mesothulas?»

Tarantulas

> A disgruntled noise from Tarantulas over the commline. That kind of belief was little more than superstition in his optics.
> 
> The further Prowl dragged him down into the dirty specifics of the situation, the more intense the high feeling got. Call it flirting with danger, or the elation of self-revelation - the sensation was the same.
> 
> «I don’t expect you to understand this, but it’s possible to have mixed motivation and conflicting interests. Just because my Ostaros is awake doesn’t mean I’ve had any sort of resolution with him, but… I  _don’t_ plan on universe-hopping like that, no.» Not for Ostaros, that is. «It was partially to ally you with myself, I won’t lie, but also because I do have a interest in the well-being of the alternates of my precious Ostaros. Call it misplaced affection or what have you. I couldn’t possibly  _not_  care for him, regardless of the fact that I didn’t create him.»
> 
> He left out a small bit of the equation - curiosity in how this Ostaros differed from his native one - but that was something Prowl certainly wouldn’t approve of him looking into. Poking and prodding any more than had already been done was sure to be distasteful to Prowl.
> 
> Also, notably, Tarantulas never referred to Springer by his newly gifted designation. Always, it was Ostaros. Ostaros, new life, his dear child.
> 
> Ah. Yes. Tarantulas was equally as reluctant to provide the answer to Prowl’s next question. Hovering in place for a moment, he focused his optics on the ground. «He… passed away. I’m sorry.» 

Prowl

> « _Pfft._ » His life was a never-ending series of mixed motivations and conflicting interests, he could understand that perfectly fine.
> 
> So, if Tarantulas was to be believed, he was here primarily for Prowl—meaning he would remain loyal after he’d repaired Springer—but he still cared for Springer—meaning he hadn’t been specifically using the offer to fix Springer solely to manipulate Prowl. The best mix of options. Far too convenient for Prowl’s tastes.
> 
> He had expected that. Hell, he’d thought it was true for millions of years, right up until the moment he heard Mesothulas’s voice hissing at him from a dark corner of his cell. Confirming that it was true was no surprise. But even so—even so, hearing it confirmed stung his spark far more than he’d anticipated.
> 
> His face was unchanged. But his voice was a little softer. «How?» Even if it was as he suspected—a slow death in the Noisemaze—he needed confirmation. He deserved to know the details.

Tarantulas

> Too convenient, but true. There you go, Prowl. For once the situation’s been handed to you on a silver platter.
> 
> A little more hesitation before Tarantulas continued. «The Noisemaze. Or, more specifically, inanition and eventual spark failure. From my calculations he arrived in the Noisemaze with an eighth of the energon stores I had and wasn’t able to survive long enough to activate his jumpgate.»

Prowl

> He’d starved to death. The sting dug deeper. «… How long did he last?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t help but finally glance at Prowl, trying to gauge his reaction. Part of him hoped to find pain and spark-break there, for the sake of his own alternate, but the lingering attachment was a bittersweet thought.
> 
> «212 years, give or take a few months.»

Prowl

> Prowl might as well have been a sparkless frame fresh from the factory, for all that his blank face betrayed.
> 
> Not that long. Idiot—he’d always put off refueling until he was on the verge of passing out. If he’d gone into the maze with a full tank…
> 
> Occasionally, Prowl had been tempted to—to try to retrieve Mesothulas. He might have already been dead by the time Prowl first considered it.
> 
> «How much was he coherent for? Could he… feel any of it?»

Tarantulas

> If he’d gone into the maze with a full tank… he’d be Tarantulas.
> 
> Tarantulas looked away and slowly started pacing again. His voice was calm and even, for once. «It’s a Noisemaze, Prowl. He wasn’t coherent for any of it.» He ignored the second half of the question. Prowl wouldn’t like that answer.

Prowl

> Prowl wanted to know  _because_  he wouldn’t like it. «Could he feel it?» Prowl repeated. «Did he— _how much_  did he suffer?»

Tarantulas

> Step step step. «There’s no way to quantify it.» But Prowl would want to know anyway, so Tarantulas tried his best. 
> 
> «When I gathered the data, records stated he’d only passed out three years before he died. If it makes you feel any better, I’d guess he’d been hallucinating for half a dozen decades before then, so the Noisemaze didn’t affect him the same way.» Probably worse, but Tarantulas let Prowl believe what he may.
> 
> «If you’re curious what it feels like to suffer in the Noisemaze, I could certainly arrange for a hands-on experience.» 

Prowl

> No, it didn’t make him feel better. Quite the opposite. The sting in his spark had gradually progressed to a stab, sharp and deep and agonizing.
> 
> «… How long would it take to recover?» Prowl glanced skeptically over Tarantulas’s frame; Prowl wasn’t completely convinced  _he’d_  recovered.

Tarantulas

> Suddenly Tarantulas’ intake squeezed tight and he almost missed a step, his pede coming down awkwardly. Prowl, his precious new Prowl - he’d only just barely won him over, and he was suggesting diving into the Noisemaze? No. Nonono.
> 
> «Facetious, again. Unduly so. I’m… not letting you anywhere near there.» 
> 
> Partially because Tarantulas himself wasn’t sure he’d ever recovered from the experience. Why he hung onto the place was beyond him.

Prowl

> Far too long, then. Longer than Prowl could afford, with so many burdens on his shoulders. Prowl nodded in acceptance. He was not so eager to understand what Mesothulas had gone through that he could afford to endanger his ability to serve Cybertron. Punishing himself wasn’t worth the risk.
> 
> Besides, even if it were easy for a typical mech to recover from the Noisemaze, it might not be for Prowl; he had ample evidence that his processor did not respond to all abnormal stimuli the way a typical mech’s would. Prowl’s own Mesothulas had done a few experiments that had accidentally revealed that. The evidence was still in his medical records, in a couple of emergency medibay visits, with Ratchet’s baffled notes in the margins.
> 
> Visits which Prowl had deliberately left out of the files he’d sent Tarantulas. A moment of calculation; and then he commed over a file to Tarantulas. «I left some things out.» The other half of his anatomical blueprints’ notes, his more dramatic midwar medibay trips, the rest of his list of ongoing conditions. The things he’d omitted to try to catch Tarantulas in a lie. There was no need to conceal them now.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was a little surprised at Prowl’s immediate acceptance of being banned from the Noisemaze. Not that he thought Prowl was that intent on punishing himself, but that he wouldn’t be curious about the Noisemaze in general. (Nevermind the fact that he’d just revealed it was still functioning.)
> 
> Tarantulas was additionally surprised by the sudden incoming comm. He paused mid-step, scanning it intently before skimming the contents. “Left some things out,” did he? This was probably a good third of the data he’d estimated Prowl had.
> 
> He shelved the file away almost instantly so he didn’t get… distracted. Anatomical blueprints, indeed.
> 
> «I don’t blame you; you’re not the only one. You’ll have to forgive me for being wary - there was no way you wouldn’t share my files with someone else, and I can’t have all my secrets out in the open all at once.» 
> 
> «I appreciate the file, though.» 

Prowl

> If this were a mere issue of  _curiosity,_  Prowl would be content with the scientific data behind the maze. (Admittedly, he  _was_  curious about the scientific data behind the maze. But that had no relevance to the conversation at hand.)
> 
> «We both have plenty of reasons to be wary.» Tarantulas had simply removed one of those reasons.

Tarantulas

> In a way, it did have relevance - Tarantulas’ main lair at the moment was in the Noisemaze, after all. Prowl didn’t know that yet though, and might not for some time if he didn’t ask the right questions.
> 
> A silent sigh. «Yes.» His visor dimmed slightly. «If there’s any way I can improve my standing in your optics… I’m sure you’re plenty aware that I’d do just about anything for you.»

Prowl

> Yes, Tarantulas was certainly working hard to give off the impression that he’d do anything for Prowl. He’d crossed universes just to reach him, after all. But the fact that he’d do  _anything for Prowl_  didn’t necessarily mean he’d do _anything Prowl wanted_. And there were still too many questions about why he wasn’t still making the same offers to his own Prowl. Too many questions about what he’d been doing between the moment the barely-armored car had been banished and the moment he’d reemerged as a monstrous half-alien hybrid with a new name.
> 
> «… You told me the truth. That’s an excellent start.»

Tarantulas

> If Prowl knew Tarantulas had crossed  _five_ universes just to reach him, would that make him feel even more special?
> 
> Oh. Vibrations from down the hall. Guard time. Tarantulas was more than certain Prowl was aware as well, so he simply waited out the annoying disturbance until the vibrations of footsteps had faded again.
> 
> «I did. And if there’s any more truth you’d like to hear, I’m willing to disclose what I can. I don’t…» He paused for a moment to think, claw to his mandibles. «I don’t think I actually lied at any point. If I did, I’ll gladly rectify the situation.» 

Prowl

> Prowl held still until the guard had gone by.
> 
> Omissions were just as dangerous as outright lies; and Prowl didn’t yet fully believe that Tarantulas wasn’t lying about not lying. Even with Tarantulas’s unexpected confession, the questions that Prowl still wanted answers to weren’t ones he could trust Tarantulas to answer honestly.
> 
> «I’ll let you know.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t lying about not lying, Prowl. You better get used to Tarantulas positively brimming with truths now that lying was out of the way.
> 
> A nod. «You’re free to comm me as needed. For anything. I might object if you try to push too many courier jobs on me though.»

Prowl

> A silent snort. «What happened to doing  _anything_  for me?» he asked. «… Joking.» Look, he can do the whole “facetious” thing too. «I have no intention of asking you to perform any more errands like this. But, at the moment, there’s no one else I can rely upon to complete this task without unduly risking capture.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas squinted his visor in amusement. Good - Prowl was actually lightening up a little bit, even if it was an awkward attempt at doing so. That tiny bit of humor was one thing he’d probably come to adore, something his Prowl always had a hard time showing.
> 
> «Fair enough. Don’t worry, I  _did_ agree to it.» Step step turn, slowing down now, to the point where he almost leaned against the wall again. «So… you also want me to locate Starscream’s surveillance once you have quarters. Is there anything else I’m forgetting? Anything I can research or build…?» 

Prowl

> Get used to it, Tarantulas—all his attempts are awkward.
> 
> Prowl frowned. «That’s not within the scope of this…» a vague gesture, as he searched for a properly sterile phrase, «this… working relationship. You’re helping fix Springer. That’s it. That’s as close to  _researching and building_  as you and I are going to get under our current arrangement.»

Tarantulas

> Oops. In his eagerness to cater to Prowl and also fill his time, he’d slipped right back into the mindset of millennia ago. Oh, how old habits die hard.
> 
> Tarantulas’ helm tipped forward slightly, his visor focus still on Prowl. «I… understand. I’ll have you know that it  _frustrates_  me, but I understand.»
> 
> «…Is it too soon to start forming a plan for reviving him?» 

Prowl

> On some level, buried deep, it frustrated Prowl, too. He wanted…
> 
> It didn’t matter what he wanted. He couldn’t have what he wanted.
> 
> … Not yet.
> 
> «No. By all means, get to work. Do you possess a way to access Debris undetected?»

Tarantulas

> «Technically, yes, but I… haven’t gone yet.» He wasn’t sure why - maybe seeing Ostaros again, even though it was an entirely different mech, would be too much for him to handle. «I accessed some files remotely but all I can get are dated documents and brief check-ins.» 
> 
> «I’d probably prefer seeing what you can dredge up before I go, if that’s not too much to ask.» 

Prowl

> Curious. Nervous to go? Or wanted to secure his position with Prowl before getting emotionally involved with Ostaros’ alternate?
> 
> Prowl shook his head. «I could dredge up no more than you, I’m sure. You have access to his alternate’s medical file, right? There’s nothing I have access to that wouldn’t already be on them. Everyone I know who knows anything was also contributing to that file. And even if there  _is_  more information I could obtain, I doubt calling up Debris would get me any of it—I’m not popular among the Wreckers.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor narrowed in thought. «I’d very much like to have your copy of his files, despite the redundancy - I have no way of knowing if his specs differ from my own Ostaros’ frame and spark. No need to call up Debris, since I should be able to hack into their systems once I’m there, but being properly prepared with the medical files beforehand would be preferable.» 

Prowl

> «If you can get it yourself, then that’s the most I could have done for you. I’ve… already done all I could for Springer. The rest is in your hands.» Prowl gave the things at the end of Tarantulas’s wrists a skeptical look. «… Hooks. Claws?» Help him out here.

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh. ‘Claws’ will suffice. You could call them tarsi - singular, tarsus - but that seems insufficient to properly…  _grasp_  the meaning.» Tarantulas seemed briefly pleased with himself for the play on words.
> 
> Only briefly, though. Shaking his helm, he turned away, one claw flexing slightly. «…One thing I never did get to ask my native Prowl.  _Springer_. Why redesignate Ostaros _Springer_. Please, tell me it wasn’t a clumsy attempt at secondary metaphor play.»

Prowl

> No, “tarsi” was altogether too clinical. «Claws, then.» Weird-looking claws.
> 
> «I… wanted him to have a chance at fitting in. I wanted him to be treated like a normal person. And no newbuilds have such old-fashioned names—except for a few MTOs. I didn’t want that stigma placed on him, either.» And when he let it, the guilt of renaming Ostaros without his consent ate at him, too. He told himself that Springer hadn’t suffered for it, he probably didn’t remember he’d ever had another name, but that didn’t make it acceptable. «Yes, “Springer” was my attempt to roughly translate “Ostaros” into Neocybex. I wanted to keep the intent of your original name. It… was a clumsy effort, I admit.»

Tarantulas

> «He  _isn’t_  normal, but I understand. I just -» A vague frustrated noise via comm. «-  _Why_ … Don’t answer that - I know why.» 
> 
> Tarantulas let himself stew in disappointment for a little while, a claw raised to his helm. Not that he could necessarily blame Prowl, since this wasn’t Tarantulas’ Ostaros, but he still felt like Prowl deserved the disapproval. It was a stupid translation, there was no denying it.
> 
> «I’m not going to call him Springer unless he requests otherwise. I would appreciate if you did the same, but I can’t make you.» 

Prowl

> «No. He  _isn’t_  normal. That’s why he needed all the help he could get.»
> 
> Prowl raised his chin slightly in defiance. «“Springer” is the only name he’s ever known himself as and the only name he answers to. Perhaps it was a disservice to change his name without his consent—but it would be just as much one to change it  _back_  without his consent. I’ll continue calling him Springer.»

Tarantulas

> More silent grumbling. Tarantulas wasn’t happy, and there wouldn’t be any smoothing that over.
> 
> «I’m not changing it  _back_. I’m keeping it what it was. It’s not only a disservice to him, but a slight against me. Against Mesothulas.» Tarantulas clicked his mandibles. «…I’m taking this too  _personally_ , I know. Just let me have this.» 

Prowl

> «And against you,» Prowl conceded. «But it’s not your name anymore. It’s his.»
> 
> At least Tarantulas recognized he was being irrational. «… Call him what you want. I’m going to call him Springer.»

Tarantulas

> Something in Tarantulas cringed a little at Prowl’s statement.  _Not your name anymore._ Not his Ostaros anymore. His precious creation taken from him - no, it was he that was taken from Ostaros - and turned into someone he barely recognized.
> 
> It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. Tarantulas just needed someone to blame, and Prowl was the closest thing he had to a guilty party.
> 
> «Fine.» Radio silence for a while as Tarantulas struggled to suppress his emotions, but he tamped them down soon enough. His spider legs relaxed slightly, no longer twitching.
> 
> «…This is going to be complicated. This whole multiversal business. Terminology and names. Places and times. Overlap and divergence. I’m tempted to call my alternate Mesothulas for the sake of clarity and brevity, but the name is attached to my past as well.»
> 
> Not an unusual urge for Tarantulas - he’d always been keen on pinning things down with the most precise words, in order to “capture the essence of the subject,” he claimed. 

Prowl

> It stopped being Tarantulas’s name the moment he’d given it to another living person. At that point, it became the living person’s name.
> 
> «So I’ve noticed,» Prowl said dryly. «You get used to it in time, once you begin picking up on the patterns. How long have you been in the multiverse?»

Tarantulas

> «Believe me, I’ve noticed plenty.» A hesitant pause, then: «…About five years. You knew what I was getting up to with the Noisemaze, the pocket dimension - it was only a matter of time til I managed to poke my way through to the next universe over. It wasn’t my first priority for quite some time, though.»
> 
> Mostly because he hadn’t been rejected by his native Prowl yet. He left that unsaid for this Prowl to deduce on his own.
> 
> «And you? When and how was your first experience with interdimensionality?» 

Prowl

> Prowl nodded. That was part of what had helped him guess that Tarantulas wasn’t from here; of course he’d be able to figure out how to cross universes by himself.
> 
> Five years, though? That should have been plenty of time for Tarantulas to adapt to the differences between universes—those little parallels and contradictions, the endless copies of people with the same name and face who were almost but not quite identical. Unless, of course— «How long have you been  _interacting_  with the multiverse? Actually talking to people?» —he’d been his usual antisocial self.
> 
> «About a year ago, when the  _Lost Light_  picked me up. I found myself in the company of a mech who had died two years previously. Considering how I ended up in range of the  _Lost Light_  in the first place—a space bridge accident—my spark had to be tested to confirm that this was, indeed, my universe of origin.»
> 
> … Had he shared too much? Tarantulas hadn’t known about that test. Prowl grit his denta. It was dangerously easy to simply  _talk_  to Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> A squint of his visor. Of course Prowl would nudge at that. «Not… long. Months here and there, maybe. Most of my progress has been research and information gathering.»
> 
> Only a year for Prowl? Tarantulas wasn’t too surprised, but it still seemed fresh, per se. The other information too… Tarantulas paused for a moment to take that in, compile it with the rest of what he knew. It made sense.
> 
> «That was because of destroying the space bridge.» A slight stretch of his back legs, his gaze turning to pin Prowl on the berth where he sat. No, he hadn’t known about the spark difference specifically, but he wouldn’t attack that directly. «Who performed the test?» 

Prowl

> A nod. Tarantulas had focused on the science of the multiverse and neglected to explore the political and social aspects of it. Unsurprising. «What sort of universes have you gathered information on, then? How wildly do they vary from—yours? And mine? I presume from the evidence at hand that ours are similar, correct me if I’m wrong.»
> 
> A self-deprecating smirk. «Yes, because of destroying the space bridge.» He shrugged. «I didn’t catch the name of the mech who performed it—someone working in the lab.»

Tarantulas

> «Yes, ours are quite similar, and so were the others I visited. Theoretically all I did was hop over one dimension, one variation in coordinates - one after the other, I mean. I was surprised to find the physics are fundamentally the same, people and events mostly conserved. Butterfly effects cancelled each other out. There’s some variation in the atomic makeup of objects and the names of things, but it’s hardly significant.»
> 
> Tarantulas wasn’t having any of Prowl’s vagueness, though. His visor still stared at him intently. «Don’t give me that dross. You spent a year on that ship and your memory is practically flawless. Either tell me the mech, or at least tell me the basics of the procedure. You can’t just dangle  _crossdimensional spark theory_ in front of me and leave me hanging.»

Prowl

> «Perhaps we’re incapable of accessing universes with fundamentally different physics?» Prowl suggested. «Maybe the technology we create, since it’s based on one set of physics, can only reach similar sets. It might simply ghost through or around incompatible universes.»
> 
> He nodded sharply at the mention of the butterfly effect. «I’ve noticed the same thing. A preponderance of universes seem to start from radically different positions—to the point where our very anatomies and the origins of life are different—and yet we all end up in nearly identical situations: in a war between Autobots and Decepticons, led by Optimus Prime and Megatron, culminating on arriving on Earth and ending the war, all within about a decade of each other. Astonishing consistency, and yet some universes begin from so different a position that some Cybertronians might not even have  _sparks_.» He sat forward a bit. «I have a hypothesis—perhaps we’re wrong to assume that the “beginning,” the point from which the universes diverge, is at the start of time. Perhaps the origin point from which the universes split is  _recent_ —around the time we all gained access to the multiverse—our current circumstances, with the war and the armies in their current configuration and their current location—and moving  _forward and backward_  from that is where the universes diverge. Which would explain why there’s a curious lack of butterfly effect-like circumstances—when we’re looking into the past, we’re measuring cause-and-effect in the  _wrong direction_. From a cosmological perspective, cause comes  _after_  effect for events that precede the origin point. What do you think?»
> 
> In retrospect, it was amazing Prowl made it this far without succumbing to the urge to discuss science.
> 
> A scowl. «I honestly  _don’t_  remember. My year on that ship was spent  _severely_  sleep-deprived, and I was tested before I got the spark signal generator, so it was even worse. I had to call the lab later to ask for my results again, that’s how poorly I remember—»
> 
> He fell silent. And then hid his face in his hands. «Quark. It was Quark. That’s how we met.» A groan. «That shouldn’t have been that hard to remember.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas made a barely audible chitter. «That’s somehow unbelievable to me. Crossing from one universe to another involves a break, a transition in itself, and I refuse to believe that we’re incapable of creating something that allows for us to snap from one set of laws to another. It’s almost as if you’re suggesting that something is  _impossible_ , Prowl.» A quirk of one side of Tarantulas’ visor.
> 
> He listened intently to Prowl’s proposal, his processor greedily consuming the ideas as quickly as Prowl could articulate them. «Of course, of course - it’s an extension of the premise I’ve been working on for so long, can’t you see? Forgive the incessant use of metaphors, but in a sense what you’re describing is the butterfly effect pinned like a _Specimen_ and mounted on a board! The point at which the Specimen is pinned is a disjointed multidimensional thing that connects all our universes together at each spacetime where the first traveler makes contact with a different universe. The pin is in itself a map, a convoluted system of connections, and everything spirals out of control like a fractal for all eternity in every direction. It’s such an elegant thought, I’m so delighted you  _understand_  - but of course you do. You always do.» A pleased churr. «Mind you, that’s just one theory of many. It’s entirely too limiting to think of time as a polar linear entity like that.»
> 
> Tarantulas’ optics and visor seemed to sparkle and fizz with the colorful energy of the field just beside him. This was his element, his natural habitat - and bless Prowl for finally succumbing to the discourse.
> 
> Ah, but Tarantulas had to stay grounded enough to handle the side-conversation, though. He ignored Prowl’s scowl, grasping at the new information instead. « _Ah_ , Quark. Naturally, it’d be him. I was certain there was more to him than simple xenobotany, that would have been such a waste of a mind.» 
> 
> It was good that it’d been Quark who performed the spark test. No matter what Prowl could have warned or told the scientist about Tarantulas, Quark still seemed like an easy enough target to poke and prod for information. Tarantulas was pacified in that respect.
> 
> An additional moment of thought, then muttered - «Fragmented defragmentation, surely. Do you think the difficulty is a lingering symptom of the sleep deprivation, or is it an active memory recall glitch? I can look at your files once I’ve compiled them, I -» And he rambled off a little, seeming to forget himself entirely.

Prowl

> «I’m not saying it’s  _impossible_. Just not with our level of technology. It’s designed to—to interface with similar universes, it doesn’t have the sort of adaptations needed to connect to dissimilar ones. Not yet.»
> 
> He propped his elbows on his knees, chin on his laced hands. «Metaphors aren’t my forte.» Give him a moment while he decodes that. «The pin—I don’t think it’s the moment a traveler reaches through. I think it’s an event. We made contact with the multiverse after the Dark Cybertron incident—I’m sure you know the details?—which is also the moment that links us together with the Dead Universe. If it linked us to one universe, surely it could have linked us to others. And what phenomenon other than an attempt to collapse an entire universe into a singularity could be grand enough to create a—a sort of—cross-universal singularity, a moment where all universes are pinched together into one?» A baffled look. «A… map? How does a pin serve as a—»
> 
> He abruptly cut off. «Guard, thirty seconds.» And then fell silent.
> 
> Prowl remained perfectly still, not twitching a cog, while the guard passed by. But the moment he was sufficiently gone, he launched right back into conversation. «Is it a map in the sense that it—points to all the moments that are connected? That you can navigate the universes through that pinned moment if you… no, I’ve lost it. The fractal part though—that makes sense. The way that universes split and split again, the more you examine them…»
> 
> A reluctant nod. «I sincerely doubted he invented it, but I don’t know. He at least knows how to run the scan, and he was available at the time.»
> 
> Prowl was, of course, lying.
> 
> He’d been telling the truth the first time: he didn’t remember who had done the test. He’d been half asleep, stumbled in for the test, stumbled back out to return to his guest room, passed out almost the moment the door shut. But as he’d been running through the list of mechs it  _could_  have been… Quark needed to lure Tarantulas in to test him. He clearly hadn’t set out the bait himself. If he wasn’t, then Prowl would for him. What better way to lure him in than by making him think he was simply following his own curiosity; and what better way to avoid arousing his suspicions than by getting as close to the truth as possible—exchanging one spark-scanning test for another?
> 
> He’d have to contact Quark soon to give him this new information. And hope he didn’t somehow blow this operation.
> 
> «Sleep deprivation symptom,» Prowl said. «I didn’t forget the events later; I hardly registered what was going on as it was happening. To my knowledge, I don’t have—» To his knowledge, he  _did_  have a memory recall glitch. No, not a glitch—glitches were mistakes. It was an open stab wound in his mind, a hole in the middle of his memories. But nothing, he was sure, nothing had fallen in that hole besides his memories of Chromedome.
> 
> If something else  _had_  fallen in, though… how would he know?
> 
> «… I don’t have any glitches in my memory.»

Tarantulas

> A snort across the comm. «Not yet, but that’s not a difficult thing to fix - if I actively _search out_  universes that give signs of incompatibility I could extrapolate their laws - or lack thereof - externally and figure them into the calculations. Admittedly I’d have to find an associate with a higher degree of atypical physics, but it -»
> 
> It took Tarantulas more effort than Prowl to rein himself in when the guard came by, but the event passed without incident. This was growing tiresome.
> 
> Once the steps faded again, Tarantulas put his claws together, then drew them out in a facsimile of a 3D web. «Yes, in a sense that you can navigate from universe to universe by following the connections, but it’s more than a 2D map, into 3D and possibly more. But nevermind that - the Dark Cybertron theory you just proposed - I suppose it doesn’t have to be a traveler, it could be an event, but then that implies some cause, some activating power, or some purpose for the event to happen in the first place - but we just said there would only be cause and effect  _out_ from the point of origin of the universes  _at that event_. That’s why I said traveler and not event, because travelers have agency, but it’s even - it’s even broader than that, isn’t it?» 
> 
> «It’s the Specimen. It’s an entity in itself that encompasses all universes and holds the agency of each being within itself - well, because it  _is_  the sum of the beings - and it extends along the metaphorical pin that ties the universes together, that singularity you were talking about. The Specimen is the event, the traveler - permanent and complex as all Pits, but still a specimen, still so beautiful. Meta to the multiverse, but  _part_  of the multiverse.» 
> 
> Tarantulas shivered slightly. «I’ve contemplated the idea that the Specimen exists within itself, such that it’s merely an inconsequential organism that exists in the multiverse we know - but  _is_  the multiverse, and on and on, into itself like a mirror’s reflection. But I -»
> 
> A dramatic break in his speech, and Tarantulas curled forward in silent laughter at himself. «Hyeh - please, I’m getting carried away. This is hardly the time or place to get into a highfalutin philosophical discussion of multiverse theory. My profuse apologies.» 
> 
> Slightly calmer, Tarantulas leaned against the wall, considering Quark; as far as the lie, he didn’t doubt Prowl for a second. «Even if he only knows how to conduct the test, he’d have sufficient knowledge to pass the techniques on. That’s more than enough for me.»
> 
> A flicker of Tarantulas’ visor - he’d noticed the brief hesitation in Prowl’s voice. «…You don’t sound entirely sure about that.»

Prowl

> Uneasiness started to rise up in Prowl. «… Why would you want to deliberately seek out universes that are fundamentally incompatible with ours? Sure, as fascinating an intellectual exercise as that would be—the risks that would come with it…» And what sort of “fundamentally incompatible” universes would Tarantulas be willing to visit? Places like the dead universe? «… What sort of places  _wouldn’t_  you visit? Any?» A thought—Tarantulas had still never told Prowl whether or not he disapproved of Shockwave’s Dead Universe project.
> 
> He shook his head, disgusted by the suggestion. «The “Specimen” is not some sort of—of pan-universal,  _meta_  entity. It only appears so special from inside of it. It’s the sum of  _one very small_  species of beings, not of  _all_  beings. We’re not above the universes. We’re just residents in them, like anyone else. And if one of our own happened to be the one who  _broke_  reality enough to…  _form_  the multiverse, or to link it together—that’s not an indication that we’re uniquely _special_ , more  _important_  than other races. It’s like throwing a hundred darts randomly at a dartboard and saying the one that accidentally hit the center is intrinsically superior to the surrounding darts.»
> 
> He could ignore the comment about Quark. «I’m sure,» he said firmly. «No memory glitches.» None he wanted Tarantulas to touch. None he wanted _anyone_  to touch.

Tarantulas

> «Why  _not_? What’s science worth without a bit of risk in it? As far as I can tell, the only risks inherent to transitioning between universal laws would be risk to oneself, body and mind - which could most likely be ameliorated by proper prior testing.» Clearly Tarantulas wasn’t thinking along the same lines as Prowl. However, he did add: «Hm, and maybe creating ‘cracks’ in the universes themselves, but that’s something to take into account during calculation, not testing.» 
> 
> «There are any of a number of possible universes I wouldn’t want to visit; for example, ones that might have physical laws that are far more rudimentary than ours - the transition there and back would be a highly lossy system without the proper way of compressing oneself.» 
> 
> «As for the Specimen - it’s  _different_ , I changed what it means, Prowl - or rather, it’s grown beyond what I knew it to be before. Cybertronian civilization is a mere pseudopod of the greater amoeba - or pseudopodia, different Cybertronia projected from the same body. I still hold that it’s the pin to the butterfly, but consider - ours isn’t the only Specimen. Of course one has to consider the possibility of universes devoid of anything vaguely resembling Cybertronian life - and even ones with them, this applies to them too - some of  _those_ hold the traveler that first connects them to the multiverse. That traveler, that alien agent of connection, is part of a different Specimen, a different pin, but the same butterfly, a different  _angle_ , or so I think -»
> 
> Suddenly Tarantulas seemed sheepish, his helm hung. «- But the metaphor gets away from me there, I haven’t sorted it out past that point. Theoretical discussions enthrall me, but I’ll admit I rarely have the attention span to fully develop my thoughts.» 
> 
> A suspicious glance in Prowl’s direction. Tarantulas in no way believed Prowl’s response, but the insistence wasn’t something he wanted to force past. He had only just gained a smidgen of Prowl’s trust, and it wasn’t worth endangering that in order to get to the truth. Not now, anyway.
> 
> «As you say. I’ll still do a thorough check on your files, just in case I come up with anything I can assist with. I… empathize with your situation, in a way.» 

Prowl

> At least he  _had_  limits. Even if they weren’t the limits Prowl was hoping to hear. He considered asking Tarantulas, what about actively hostile universes—what about places like the dead universe? But he couldn’t afford to tip Tarantulas off to his concerns.
> 
> «…  _We’re_  the pin? Cybertronians are the pin that holds all this together?» Prowl shook his head again. «How do you believe in that—that  _myth_  of Cybertronian exceptionalism? I would think that you of all people would have enough emotional distance from our race to see how patently absurd it is.» At least it sounded like he was conceding the possibility that aliens might be able to achieve the same thing—albeit barely.
> 
> A skeptical look. « _Empathize._  In what way? Have you been struggling with insomnia too?»

Tarantulas

> «You’re misinterpreting me, Prowl,» Tarantulas said, exasperation permeating the commlink. «I’m no blathering fool, I know better that to think that we of all species would be the  _center of the universe_ , much less the multiverse. If anything, your Dark Cybertron theory is more exceptionalist - one singularity involving primarily us? No, no, I simplified my theory to one facet for ease of understanding at first - but the gist is that there are infinite pins based on every species sentient enough to achieve traveler status, whether accidentally or not, and each of those are in themselves a Specimen, and each Specimen is in a way its own singularity. I focus on ours merely because it’s  _ours_ , and I’m inextricably tied to it - and personally I find it most fascinating.»
> 
> Tarantulas let the skeptical look bounce right off him. «Not insomnia. Something more along the lines of processor overload that results in similar symptoms as yours. I don’t know if this was the case for your Mesothulas as well, but my memory is unimpressively incapable of distinguishing different levels of data importance - that is to say, I’ve somewhat of a photographic memory, or so the Earthlings call it. It’s… cumbersome.» 

Prowl

> «There’s a difference between saying some cosmological accident might be our fault, and saying that we might embody some sort of meta-level pin that holds everything together.» But, still. Tarantulas had explained himself, Prowl relaxed a bit. «… Perhaps the metaphor was unclear. We’re mixing amoeba and butterflies.» Prowl wasn’t completely sure what an amoeba looked like. Something squishy, with antennae and a shell, he was pretty sure.
> 
> «Then your empathy is misplaced. My issue is caused by sleep deprivation, not an overload of data.» Prowl would make note of that. He didn’t know if his own Mesothulas had possessed the same affliction/gift, but Prowl had known that  _something_  different was going on inside his head. «I would think that having a “photographic memory” would make it  _harder_  to forget anything.»

Tarantulas

> «Even if there is a difference between those two things, they might even both be contained in the Specimen,» Tarantulas said, chittering slightly. «Also, unless I’m _ridiculously_ mistaken, the metaphors - the butterfly is pinned, and the amoeba extends along the pin, except the pin is a three dimensional map? You’ll have to be patient with me I’m afraid, I’m coming up with most of the content of this conversation on the fly.» 
> 
> Tarantulas squinted slightly in amusement. «I said symptom, not cause - but I think we’ve had enough splitting of hairs today, don’t you think? In any case, just imagine an onslaught of data that you can’t filter out - it’s rather hard to pick through it for the information you  _need_  when there’s so much content there in the first place.» 
> 
> Inclining his helm toward Prowl, he added: «In the end I suppose I have the opposite problem as you, I’ll admit. I end up recharging more than usual to aid in processing and deleting extraneous data.» 
> 
> Wait, why was he telling Prowl this again? Huh. Maybe he was tossing personal information at him in an attempt to gain points in his book… Yes. That. That was it.

Prowl

> «It contains no grandiosity. I can say that for sure.»
> 
> Prowl processed that a moment. An amoeba on a pin that was a map in a butterfly. And then, very slowly, nodded. «I think we should stop using metaphors.»
> 
> Mm. Prowl understood that. Most of his life has been an exercise in coping with far too much data, measurement after measurement of minutiae. He knew at a glance how many hairs were on Tarantulas’s chest and legs and thighs. A few million years ago, his processor’s futile attempt to track the way each and every one of them twitched and moved in the filtered air currents would have made his entire mind crash; it only didn’t now because he knew the formulae to calculate their motions en masse, rather than one by one.
> 
> He didn’t have a problem with  _retaining_  all that data, as Tarantulas suggested he did; he knew how to clear out his mind when things got overwhelming. But a problem with picking it up, yes. Being overrun with it, yes. Having to recharge excessively to compensate for a processor that drained his energy faster than everyone else’s, yes.
> 
> «… Fourteen hours a night,» he said. «You?» There was a chance that Tarantulas was lying—making up facts about himself he thought Prowl would be inclined to sympathize with, based on what he’d found in Prowl’s medical records. But if so, then there was no harm in Prowl responding with no more information than the file itself contained. Besides, if that was the case, then Tarantulas had learned how to read the data in a slug without plugging it into himself. He may have been capable of amazing things, but Prowl doubted that was one of them.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas rubbed at his face with a retracted claw, although he was still clearly amused. «Metaphors are the best way of articulating difficult concepts, since they appropriate preexisting schemas and use them to their advantage. But I concede your point. The meta needs a lot of developing, too.»
> 
> He seemed only vaguely surprised by Prowl’s sleep requirements. «Fourteen  _continuous_ hours?» A pause for calculations. «I average 12.25 hours a day in the past year, but I recharge more frequently in periodic allotments, generally… three or four hours each? I didn’t use to, but I discovered it helps to process the data in smaller chunks.»

Prowl

> «Perhaps best for those who are more naturally inclined toward poetic modes of communication. I prefer precision.»
> 
> A slight shrug. «Not necessarily continuous, although I prefer it that way.» He could function acceptably on as little as eight—although not happily.
> 
> Prowl understood the rationale behind the smaller sleep chunks, but he couldn’t quite help but muse that it was sort of fitting: Tarantulas’s attention span was so short, he couldn’t even remain focused on one task when he was unconscious. (…Did this one have a short attention span too? Prowl didn’t know yet.)

Tarantulas

> Squinty optics. «I waste all my precision on my reports. Hopefully the metaphors didn’t _leak through_  into the files I just gave you.»
> 
> A nod. «Makes sense. More complex defrag processes need time, or something like that. You know your own processor better than I do though - well, hyeh, at least for now. We’ll see what your files have to offer me.»
> 
> «…Wait, how did you get by in the war, needing that much sleep?» 
> 
> And yes, Prowl, Tarantulas did have an abnormally short attention span, at least in these two universes. Expert multitasking abilities made up for it slightly, but didn’t truly serve as a substitute for a flitting mind.

Prowl

> «Hopefully not.» He was fairly certain they wouldn’t have, though; how could cut-and dry blueprints get metaphorical? Surely there wasn’t much opportunity for… Ah. Sarcasm.
> 
> He managed to keep his face straight and suppress a fearful shudder. He wondered if that would have sounded as ominous ten years ago or if it was just in his head. «My files will tell you what medics know about me, not what _I_  know about me.»
> 
> A good question. Dryly, he replied, «I didn’t socialize.» Mostly true, albeit not because of his sleep requirements. And he spent a lot of time tired.

Tarantulas

> Oh, it was a good thing Tarantulas hadn’t met Shockwave yet. If the prospect of Tarantulas delving into Prowl’s processor files was frightening now, there would be no comparing it to the terror of an impeding cortical psychic patch.
> 
> «That’s true enough. Some things can be inferred, but a  _mind_ can’t truly be captured in data… A shame.» 
> 
> Tarantulas nodded in complete understanding. «Cut out the unnecessary bits, smart. I’m glad - or at least hopeful - that you’re getting more recharge time these days? Or maybe _will_ , once the “green morons” are around?»
> 
> «Oh, and I meant to ask. Your back, how is it?» 

Prowl

> It’s hard to compare one level of abject trauma-triggered terror to another. He’s going to drop the conversation about his mind.
> 
> It wasn’t a smart decision so much as the obvious result of him being who he was, but Prowl wasn’t going to argue the point. «Yes. More. Not high quality, but more.» And far, far too much, when he’d been on the  _Lost Light_ —from exhausted insomnia before he’d been lent the spark signal generator, to exhausted near-catatonia. He needed the Constructicons.
> 
> «Unchanged.»

Tarantulas

> It’s OK, Prowl, Tarantulas understood. There’d be no use for the pot to call the kettle black if he was self-aware about it.
> 
> «Maybe I somehow leached out all of your verbosity,» Tarantulas mused wryly. «You could’ve give me more detail, but I guess this will have to do.» 
> 
> Suddenly Tarantulas was highly conscious of the distance between him and Prowl. Despite how easy it was to converse at times, it was clear that the millennia and universes that had separated them weren’t something that would simply disappear now they’d come together again. The realization was bittersweet - it meant that things could possibly be different now, but it would take much too long to develop, far too long for Tarantulas’ liking.
> 
> The weight of it settled on his shoulders, and he ceased pacing.

Prowl

> «Precision over poetry,» Prowl reminded him. «Obviously, if the situation is unchanged, then any details I could provide would be identical to the ones you received last time.»
> 
> Tarantulas had stopped walking; why? Irritation? Worry? On the verge of saying something intrusive and personal? Prowl spoke up quickly to head off all three: «It’s not enough to significantly negatively impact my ability to function.»

Tarantulas

> «Rearticulation sometimes offers new information.» A shrug. Tarantulas wasn’t _that_  concerned.
> 
> «That’s sufficient. I do hope you can straighten out plans with Hook soon enough to get things underway. That’s… not my business though.» Tarantulas burrowed down into his fuzzy shoulders a little.  _Don’t have a moodswing now, please don’t have a moodswing now…_

Prowl

> «I have no new information I care to offer.»
> 
> Prowl nodded in agreement; it  _wasn’t_  Tarantulas’s business. He was learning. Good. In exchange, it didn’t hurt to offer— «I’m sure he’ll be prepared by the time we’re reunited.»

Tarantulas

> He was learning, but he didn’t like it, not one bit. 
> 
> «I’m glad to hear it.» A dimmed visor - he  _was_  glad to hear it, but still frustrated that Hook would have the privilege of operating on Prowl instead of him. Well, at least he had Prowl’s medical files now. Small steps.
> 
> Maybe he should head out and go take a look at those files before he started sinking into a different headspace. So anticlimactic though - revealing all that truth to Prowl, and leaving disappointed and depressed? There had to be a better possible ending to their meeting than that.

Prowl

> Tarantulas hadn’t given him much to work with, conversation-wise. Was the exchange wrapping up? Prowl scooted back onto the berth a bit, expecting Tarantulas would be taking his leave soon.
> 
> «Contact me before you bring the spark signal generator to my new quarters. I’ll need to arrange somewhere safe to hide it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas nodded slightly, a silent sigh escaping him. Yes, things were just about finished, it seemed like.
> 
> «Ought I to come first to ferret out the surveillance? Or would you like for me to do that when I bring the generator?» 

Prowl

> «When you bring the generator. I don’t know where we’ll be staying yet, you’d likely just waste time waiting until I find out. Better to spend that time productively.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas squinted a little. «I don’t  _waste_  time; I’ve got plenty to do in any scenario. But that sounds satisfactory for now.» 
> 
> Stepping around a little, he decided to go ahead and transform into spider mode, if only to give a sign of his intent of leaving (not that he  _wanted_  to, but staying seemed highly uncomfortable).
> 
> Tap tap on the cell floor with his front leg. «Am I to comm Rodimus? If so, his frequency?»

Prowl

> Well, it would be a waste of time from  _Prowl’s_  perspective, at least. Until he knew what Tarantulas spent his personal time doing, he wanted to prevent him from having many opportunities to do it.
> 
> Ah. Spider mode again. Tarantulas was planning on either leaving or crawling on Prowl. Considering how well the latter went last time, he hoped it was the former.
> 
> Tarantulas hadn’t picked up Rodimus’s frequency? Prowl had suspected that the list of contacts Tarantulas was working through was the list of the last few mechs Prowl had contacted before departing the  _Lost Light_ ; and if so, Rodimus was on that list. Perhaps since their comm exchange had been short-range, Tarantulas hadn’t been able to grab it?
> 
> Either way, Prowl pinged Rodimus’s frequency over. «Tell Rodimus I told you to comm about picking up the spark signal generator.»

Tarantulas

> Yes, Rodimus had been on the list of contacts, but it was always good to double check frequencies if you were  _actually_  meant to comm the person. Nevermind the fact that Tarantulas was still half in the mindset that he was lying to Prowl about what he was doing.
> 
> «Noted. Anything else?» 
> 
> Technically yes, there was something else, a million something-elses, but the main one was up in the air at the moment. Prowl’s suspicion of Tarantulas wanting to cuddle wasn’t unwarranted. It crossed Tarantulas’ mind that he could possibly bargain with Prowl to get some time curled up on his lap, but was he really that desperate…?
> 
> …Yes. Yes he was. But he wasn’t going to stoop to that level, because he wanted their relationship to progress without relying on bartering and IOUs. That kind of interaction was shallow, unnatural, and unfulfilling, as far as Tarantulas was concerned - and he needed their relationship to be something more. He could wait.

Prowl

> Prowl thought a moment; and then shook his head. «No, nothing else.» He’d exhausted all the reasonable conversation they could have, and all that was left were unreasonable options. Talking about science and inventions. Talking about themselves. Unacceptable.

Tarantulas

> Oh, there were probably more than just those unreasonable options. The weather, social happenings, politics… Nothing they’d give a nanokilk’s worth of their time, though. It was clear the last dregs of the conversation were spiraling down the drain.
> 
> Tarantulas sunk his carapace down slightly, still feeling psychosomatically over-weighted. «Very well. I’ll be on my way then.» Another mental rundown of the tasks he’d been assigned just in case, and he bruxed his chelicerae silently.
> 
> Eight optics focused on Prowl, then turned away. Step step shrink step shrink, and the spider did his best to fade out and disappear.

Prowl

> A silent nod. He had nothing else to say. Not even a farewell; it would imply too much familiarity.
> 
> So instead he watched, silently.
> 
> As soon as Tarantulas had disappeared, Prowl slid back onto the berth, lay down, and resumed staring at the ceiling.
> 
> After a moment, he started tentatively searching through Tarantulas’s data.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl has absolutely no idea what he's getting into when he brings up the topic of eggs in conversation with Tarantulas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a crack RP thread and has quickly and irrevocably become canon for these two.
> 
> Background - Prowl comes from a universe in which sex is addressed very casually, whereas Tarantulas finds the subject taboo.

Prowl

> «What's this about eggs?»

Tarantulas

> «...Nothing you need to worry about.» 

Prowl

> «I’m not worried, I’m curious. What’s this about eggs?»
> 
> He’s lying. He  _had_  been curious, but  _now_  he’s worried.

Tarantulas

> « _Nothing_. The subject simply came up on my datafeed. You know how it goes.» 
> 
> Yes. That’s right. Datafeed antics, that’s what it was about. Nothing to do with Tarantulas himself. Keep scrolling, nothing to see here.

Prowl

> «I do not believe you.»

Tarantulas

> «There’s nothing to  _believe_ or not _. …_ Why did you comm  **me** anyway?» 

Prowl

> «Because you’re the one who brought the subject up on the datafeed and then attempted to avert all attempts to discuss it. So what is this about eggs?»

Tarantulas

> «I mentioned it because my followers asked me what made me  _uncomfortable_. That’s the first and last word I have on the subject.  ** _Eggs._** » The word was awkwardly hissed across the commlink.

Prowl

> «… What in the world do eggs make you uncomfortable for? Of all things.» He’ll be willing to let it go in a moment, but,  _why_.

Tarantulas

> Twitch twitch. Might as well tell the truth.
> 
> «The Earth order Araneae is exclusively oviparous.»

Prowl

> What in the universe is the Earth order Araneae. Give Prowl a minute to look that up.
> 
> … Oh. Fancy term for spiders.
> 
> «You are… uncomfortable with a form of reproduction because the specimens off of which you base your chosen alt-mode utilizes it?» He’s a little puzzled by implied sequence of cause and effect here.

Tarantulas

> Well when you put it that way, it sounds kind of silly. Thanks, Prowl.
> 
> «I’m not uncomfortable with -  _nevermind_. If you can’t process the insinuations, I’m not going to be the one to inform you.» 

Prowl

> «Then what in the world  _are_  you uncomfortable with?» Don’t you nevermind him, he’s  _confused_.

Tarantulas

> « _This conversation._ » Tarantulas decides to shut up, his plating and setae fluffed. Unless Prowl says something really important, he considers the matter finished.

Prowl

> «… Oh.»
> 
> Prowl has nothing to say to that. It doesn’t answer his question, of course—Tarantulas  _was_  undeniably uncomfortable with the subject of eggs  _long_  before Prowl started asking questions about it—but how is he supposed to get this straightened out when  _he’s become the source of the discomfort_.
> 
> So the silence just. Stretches. Awkwardly.

Tarantulas

> Yep. And it keeps going. And going…
> 
> Eventually Tarantulas tries to cut the commlink off as sneakily as he can. Like a decrescendo of frequencies. Real subtle.

Prowl

> Prowl should say something.
> 
> «……… My apologies.»
> 
> Yeah. There.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a day and Prowl’s still trying to figure out why the fact that Tarantulas’s alt-mode is based off an egg-laying species makes him uncomfortable with the subject of eggs.

Maybe the fact that it’s a spider thing means he sees eggs as alien, organic objects, and is revolted by them on that basis? But Prowl finds that highly unlikely; if he was so revolted by the organic product of spiders, then he would also be revolted by the organic spiders themselves, which he clearly isn’t.

Maybe he means he’s  _physically_  uncomfortable with eggs—perhaps his alt-mode is designed to produce them and he finds the process unpleasant? But if that were the case, he could simply remove that part of the anatomy, couldn’t he? He’d hollowed out a spider and spliced so many new traits and modifications into the shell left behind that Prowl was quite sure it would be far harder for him to  _include_  an arachnid-eqsue reproductive system than to  _remove_  one.

And even more mysteriously, when Prowl examined the blueprints of Tarantulas’s anatomy, it fairly quickly became obvious that Tarantulas did indeed have  _some_  sort of equipment built to handle egg-shaped objects—but it was built into his robot mode anatomy, not his spider mode anatomy.

So, what? Was it  _only_  spider eggs?  _Why?_  Did they smell noxious? Did something about them remind Tarantulas of the noisemaze? Prowl didn’t have a clue.

The Constructicons were less than useless. Their best suggestion was “eggs are fraggin’ gross.”

 

* * *

 

MAYBE HE ACTUALLY LIKES EGGS BUT HE THINKS OTHER PEOPLE THINK EGGS ARE GROSS. 

Prowl had a revelation.

The Constructicons think they helped by calling eggs gross. Prowl tells them they didn’t. (They did.)

 

* * *

 

Tarantulas

> Halfway across the multiverse in his little Noisemaze nest, someone’s spidey senses were tingling. Something bad was about to happen, he just knewit.

Prowl

> Time to test his theory. «... I don't think there's anything wrong with eggs.»

Tarantulas

> His spidey senses were right. Shit. What did it mean? Was it some sort of code?  _Nothing wrong with eggs._  Primus almighty, save him…
> 
> «…I’m glad you felt it necessary to share this realization with me, Prowl.» 
> 
> Yeah, that’s right. Play it off like it doesn’t mean a thing.

Prowl

> A moment of awkward silence. «… Sarcasm?»

Tarantulas

> Ah, yes. That was something else he was going to have to get used to. Prowl’s difficulty with comm tones, and tones in general.
> 
> «….Sarcasm. Yes. You don’t just comm people out of the blue and tell them your opinions on  _eggs._ Besides, I thought we were done with this conversation  _yesterday_.» 

Prowl

> «Yes, we did—we were—but I realized that there’s a high probability that your discomfort does not originate from the eggs themselves, nor from the fact that your alt-mode’s archetype creates them. You even included apparently oviparous equipment in your own anatomy, surely you  _yourself_  do not object to eggs. Therefore, it was most likely that you are not uncomfortable with eggs themselves, per se, but with your expectation of others’ reactions to them, and your expectation for how their opinions of eggs would extend to their opinions of you.»
> 
> The Mesothulas Prowl had known had been… socially awkward would be a generous way to phrase it. Although Mesothulas never said anything, Prowl strongly suspected that the reason he’d worn his mask had been to hide his atypical face. If that self-consciousness held true across timelines, then Tarantulas would be no stranger to hiding pieces of himself for fear that others would react to them judgmentally. Hell, he  _had_  been wary about giving Rodimus an opportunity to see his alt-mode; clearly he did have concerns about how he would be perceived.
> 
> And they were valid concerns. The Constructicons were proof enough of that. Even setting aside the Decepticons’ rampant, frothing neotechnoism, xenophobia and anti-organic prejudice was alive and well on Cybertron. 
> 
> «I wanted to—if that  _is_  the situation—to, er… attempt to alleviate your concerns.» A pause. «So. … Eggs don’t bother me.»

Tarantulas

> Yes. The anatomical notes. Tarantulas had been waiting for Prowl to poke around in those, it was more than inevitable after their conversation yesterday. But even now, Prowl  _still_ …
> 
> …Ouch. Right in the self-conscious-spider feels. 
> 
> It took a moment for Tarantulas to gather his wits. «So essentially, you’re comming to tell me that a possible facet of my anatomy isn’t discomfiting to you, in order to ease my apparent anxiety? Somehow, I’m not feeling any more comfortable about it yet.» 
> 
> If it were that simple, Tarantulas would’ve been chatting away eagerly about his eggs and the science involved even before Prowl had gotten the notes.
> 
> …If it were that simple, Tarantulas wouldn’t have to awkwardly get up and walk around every time the subject came up to keep his mind off… things.
> 
> «I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m afraid you’ve missed the point entirely.»

Prowl

> Prowl sighed in frustration. And he’d made things worse. Tarantulas hadn’t _said_  he’d made things worse, but he’d absolutely made things worse.
> 
> «If you would  _explain_  the point, I wouldn’t have to make guesses at what it is. I’m  _attempting_  to understand.»
> 
> Maybe it wasn’t his business to understand. Maybe, for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t deserve to understand. But this was going to  _eat_  at him until he  _did_  understand, and so he had to at least try.

Tarantulas

> Prickle, prickle. Tarantulas didn’t feel like he should have to  _explain_  himself, that it should already be  _known_ , but at the same time he didn’t want anything to do with the subject and thought it should never have been brought up in the first place. So there you go, Prowl. Have at that.
> 
> …You’ll have to get at it from upside-down and sideways, though.
> 
> Tarantulas made an awkwardly choked noise. «If I tried to explain it to you, it - no. Why do you even care? It’s just  _eggs._ They mean  _nothing_  to you.»

Prowl

> «I— It matters to me because it’s  _bothering_  you, and I cannot comprehend _why_.»
> 
> What did that mean, “they mean nothing to you”? Were they  _supposed_  to mean something to him? What possible meaning could alien, organic reproductive pods have for Prowl? He’s staring at Tarantulas’s blueprints in his mind’s eye, frowning in consternation.
> 
> «Wouldn’t  _you_  want an explanation if—if  _I_  was acting like  _you are_?»

Tarantulas

> «No, I  _wouldn’t_ , because it’s  _not that complicated_.» In all honesty, it wasn’t, but Tarantulas certainly wasn’t making it easy for Prowl.
> 
> «Besides, since when have you cared about things  _bothering_  me? We’ve only known each other for two weeks, I’m surprised you’re invested that much already.»

Prowl

> «I think you  _would_  if you  _didn’t know what was going on_.» Prowl rubbed his optics. Why, why, why couldn’t people just  _say what was bothering them_  like rational, intelligent beings that were capable of meeting the  _very basic minimum_  requirements of competent communication.
> 
> «Well—clearly, I  _am_  invested!»
> 
> A moment of silence.
> 
> Prowl hangs up.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was on the verge of hissing frustratedly into the commlink when he heard the disconnect. Well then. That solved matters.
> 
> Well… not really. Now Tarantulas was left with a lot of pent-up emotion and no Prowl. Or rather, an angry Prowl who didn’t want to talk to him, which was for all intents and purposes, even worse.
> 
> …Especially since Prowl had just admitted to being invested.  _Invested_. That… that was an impressive accomplishment, actually, dragging that out of Prowl. Highly unexpected.
> 
> Flopping back into a hammock, Tarantulas let out the hiss he’d held onto, a little less frustrated now. But how, oh how in Primus’ name was he supposed to fix this without making it  _even worse_ …?

 

* * *

 

Prowl’s got his elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. That was horrible. That was completely horrible. He should not have said that thing.

The Constructicons send Mixmaster as their ambassador to go pat Prowl on the back.

“… Eggs’re a dumb thing to get all worked up over, anyhow.”

Prowl grunts.

 

* * *

 

Invested. “Devoted morally or psychologically, as to a purpose; committed.” Prowl was invested. Invested.

The word still rang in his audials, a more-than-sufficient distraction from other distresses. He couldn’t believe Prowl had said that. Had he completely misjudged how different this Prowl was from his native one? Was he that much more open about his feelings? He couldn’t possibly be. The way he hung up so quickly after shouting the words was indicative of that, certainly.

Tarantulas’ tanks churned slightly. He’d gotten so much more than he’d asked for out of their interactions in the past two weeks and didn’t know how to process all the input. It was easy to harbor unrequited affections; there was no danger in it, no precarious balance. But when a glimpse of a response shimmered in the air… 

He couldn’t think of that now. Drop the whole “invested” scrap, he had to figure out how to handle the - the egg situation. Tarantulas squinted at nothing and offlined his visor, letting out an unneeded vent. There was no way this was going to end well, with how far things had ramped up already. The anticlimax was sure to disappoint.

Well, there was always a silver lining somewhere - he wasn’t internally spawning right now, at least. That would have exponentially multiplied the awkwardness of it all.

 

* * *

 

Tarantulas

> Ping. Ping. Ping ping. Ping ping ping. Tarantulas is pinging you the Fibonacci sequence and he wants to see how long it takes until you figure it out.

Prowl

> Prowl answers after the second ping. «What?» He doesn’t get an opportunity to figure it out.
> 
> … Unless Tarantulas just keeps pinging anyway.

Tarantulas

> Oh no, he’s not talking until Prowl figures it out. Drunk determination, indeed.
> 
> Ping-ping-ping-ping-ping.

Prowl

> «Tarantulas, what—» Interrupted by two pings. «What are you—» Interrupted by three pings. «…» Five pings. Oh. Prowl gets it.
> 
> He waits for eight pings to confirm it, and then shoots back a  _pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-pi-ping._  «Stop it.»

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s irritated pings sounded kind of like one of those carnival games when you win the prize. Tarantulas could almost see the blinking lights. 
> 
> «Awwww, I was hoping you’d cut me off at  _eight_. I like  **eight** , not  _thirteen_. Bad luck, that one.»

Prowl

> «I wanted one more round to confirm the pattern. Why are you pinging me in Fibonacci?» Code? Test? Trolling?

Tarantulas

> «Oh! I just wanted to.» Plain and simple, no ulterior motive here, Prowl. Now give him a moment while he grabs the next beaker. Gosh, why hadn’t he thought of making this before? It was so  _good -_
> 
> «Did - did you know there’s an intergalactic mag, uh,  _journal_ out for it? Dedicated  _just_ to Fibonacci numbers. That’s all it is. Hyeh.» 

Prowl

> Urg. Prowl slipped up one time, and Tarantulas decided he could comm him to _chatter._  He’d clearly read far too much into Prowl’s comments.
> 
> «Yes. I know.» On the rare occasions that he found himself on a Galactic Council-controlled world, he always tried to take time to find a newsstand and get the latest mathematics magazines. (It was  _amazing_  how many stands neglected to carry mathematics publications altogether.) «What do you want?»

Tarantulas

> «You’re so  _pithy._ » Tarantulas giggled to himself (was the commline on for it? Eh, who cared). Pithy. Close to another accurate adjective. How  _humorous._
> 
> «What do I  _want_? What do I… Oh Primus, that’s a hard question. Do you mean - why I’m comm’ing you? That would make sense. Yes. I’m…» There was a significant pause. Why… why was he comm’ing Prowl again?
> 
> «Eggs! Eggs, that was it.  _Eggs_ , Prowl.»

Prowl

> Tarantulas sounded like his brain and his body were on two different planets, and there were connection issues between them.
> 
> «… You’re not sober, are you.»

Tarantulas

> A moment’s pause, then, innocently:  «…Am I supposed to be?» 
> 
> _Was_  he supposed to be? He didn’t have anything better to do, right?
> 
> «Ooh, I see what you’re doing here. You’re trying to  _distract_  me. I’m not that easily manipulated, Prowl. Sobriety has nothing to do with - with intelligent conversation. About eggs.  _Right._ » 

Prowl

> «You’re not sober. What are you on. Are you testing something new on yourself or do you actually know what it is.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas made a chittering whiny noise. «Prowllll… why do you always have to be such a  _spoilsport_. It - it’s  _both._ It’s obtenteum high grade. Moonshine. Something. I don’t know, I haven’t named it yet. You! You could help me name it. Come try some?»

Prowl

> «I’m  _not_  going to try some.  _Or_  name it.  _Or_  come over.»
> 
> High grade. At least he wasn’t completely making up new substances from scratch and testing them on himself. Just a variation on a known quantity.
> 
> «Why are you drunk?»

Tarantulas

> «Ohhh no, it wouldn’t be a good idea to, to…» Tarantulas trailed off. Not a good idea for Prowl to have obtenteum  _anything_. His train of thought cut off before it resolved itself though. 
> 
> Hic. Geez. What a silly-bot. «Because I drank the high grade, Prowl. I’m - I’m so disappointed in you. No concept of cause and effect. I can even tell you how it works, too - I think - maybe I should run some scans… that… sounds like a good idea…» 
> 
> Actually, Tarantulas had set up some automatic scans to run throughout the duration of the “test,” but he wasn’t in a state to remember that at the moment.

Prowl

> A deep breath in, and a slow sigh. «I know why, mechanically, you are drunk. I meant why, psychologically, did you choose to get drunk. And—and drunk dial me. That’s what this is, this is drunk dialing.»

Tarantulas

> «I - I didn’t choose to drink,  _it_ chose  _me_.» A long pause - what else did Prowl say…? «And who  _else_  am I supposed to comm?» 
> 
> For a while Tarantulas’ processor meandered off into the “sad drunk” territory before swinging right back around to settle solidly in “manic drunk.”
> 
> «You! You distracted me!  _Why_  do you keep  _doing_  that? You were so curious  _yesterday_ -» 

Prowl

> «Don’t be— Unless you created a sentient drink with the means of either communicating its desires or else bodily forcing itself upon you, it did  _not_ choose you.» He was sure he wasn’t going to straighter answer than “it chose me,” though.
> 
> The temptation was strong to snap back a sarcastic comment about just who, exactly, Tarantulas could comm. But, no. It would be pointlessly cruel and Prowl stood to gain nothing from it.
> 
> «Because establishing your state of inebriation was more important than—than whatever you’re rambling about. The eggs.»
> 
> If Prowl was any sort of good person, he would refuse to let Tarantulas tell him a secret that he hadn’t been willing to tell while sober. Prowl was not, however, a good person. He was a person who was currently dedicated to finding out as much as possible as fast as possible about Tarantulas. And this information was probably trivial—but it might not be.
> 
> So he said, «Fine. What is it?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ only response to the first bit was giggling. Sentient drinks? Oh Prowl. As if those didn’t already exist. They were walking around  _everywhere_.
> 
> «In - inebriation is inconsequential. You’re  _far_  too concerned about that.» If anything, Prowl’s concern called for grabbing another beaker, according to drunk logic. It sloshed in Tarantulas’ claw.
> 
> « _Eggs_. You asked why… why I was uncomfortable. Which you shouldn’t have even heard in the first place -  _why_  did you, how - ? Idon’tknow, nevermind that.» Hic. «I’m _uncomfortable_  about eggs - because - have you ever played with eggs? No, of course you haven’t, you would’ve - you’d  _know_.» 

Prowl

> Yes, well—Prowl had reason to be concerned about the strange substances Tarantulas might be experimenting with, and it wasn’t because he was worried for  _Tarantulas’s_  safety.
> 
> Prowl’s not going to point out how widely his surveillance net was cast. He’d be a poor spymaster if he couldn’t stalk one neutral.
> 
> «No. I haven’t. I tend not to tamper with the helpless living young of aliens. So enlighten me.»

Tarantulas

> To be honest, Prowl  _ought_ to be worried for Tarantulas’ safety. The spider had just dropped his third beaker, but thankfully this time it didn’t break. Bmph, right onto a pile of web. The moonshine spilled everywhere, turning the silk a sickly green - and was it _melting_ , or were Tarantulas’ optics just playing with him?
> 
> (Yes, it was in fact eating through the silk.)
> 
> «They’re not - they don’t have to be  _living_ , or alien, there are unfertilized - but I wouldn’t do that, it just seems  _unsanitary_. No, it’s, I synthesize them, it’s a really nice texture. It feels  _incredible_  if you’ve got offset calipers - better in reverse than during insertion, but that - that’s just my  _personal_  opinion -» 

Prowl

> «… Mhm.»
> 
> Prowl puts on his most level, patient voice. As level as the surface of a frozen lake.
> 
> «You will pardon my confusion, but it sounds to me as though you are describing how you derive  _pleasure_  from eggs, whereas I believe you had promised to explain why you are  _uncomfortable_  due to eggs. I’m sure you will promptly explain this apparent contradiction.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas absolutely didn’t notice any difference in Prowl’s attitude. He was too busy trying to grab onto the nearest stable object. Once he did, he just stood there swaying, giggling. The laughter had a nervous edge to it now.
> 
> «Nonono, see, I think that’s why I got  _drunk_. Well, probably. Because see - it  **is** uncomfortable. To talk about, I mean, that’s why. But when I’m -» Hic. «- When I’m like this it doesn’t  _matter_ anymore, and I  _knew_  I had to tell you, because I didn’t want you to - to not talk to me anymore, you weren’t  _talking_  to me, so I… You  _see_?» He gestured forward, almost tipping himself over.

Prowl

> So Tarantulas averted discomfort by getting wasted.  _That_  was a habit Prowl would have to firmly stamp out. He hoped it wasn’t a frequent habit.
> 
> «And why, pray tell, does  _talking_  about them make you uncomfortable?»

Tarantulas

> It’s alright, Prowl. This is actually the first time he’s made obtenteum high grade weak enough that he could consume it. You’ll just have to hope he doesn’t make any more - there are only two more full beakers left, anyway.
> 
> «Weeell - well doesn’t it make  _you_  uncomfortable?» Genuine confused curiosity. «They’re _eggs._  It’s  _awkward._ It’s not exactly - not exactly a run-of-the-mill sort of  _deviance_. Nevermind the prospect of talking about that kind of stuff with… with  _you_  of all people, you know -»

Prowl

> «Ah. I understand. So what you’re telling me is that it’s not  _eggs themselves_ that make you uncomfortable; it’s the fact that you yourself like them, and as a consequence, the prospect of discussing them with other people makes you uncomfortable, due to the possibility that—as you clearly assume— _they_  will find it uncomfortable.»
> 
> And then the icy levelness melted. «In other words, you are uncomfortable with the eggs for the precise reason I predicted you were. And  _you_  replied with  _sarcasm_  and said I’d  _missed the point_.»

Tarantulas

> «Well t’be fair, part of the -» Hic. «- part of the  _pleasure_  lies in the  _discomfort_ , if you know what I mean?» He started giggling a little, but it cut off as he had to make another grab at the wall.
> 
> «But that’s - that’s not what I meant, you  _did_  miss the point! Hmmph. You were thinking about them like, in the  _quotidian_ sense, not like  _interfacing_ , it’s ssssuper different. We hadn’t talked anything interfacing - not til now, and it’s like, it’s like…» Alas, his similes and metaphors failed him.

Prowl

> «You’re splitting wires! Interfacing doesn’t make it the slightest bit different! That’s a distinction  _you_  made up, not one I implied.»

Tarantulas

> «I didn’t - that doesn’t make any  _sense_  Prowl. Tch. Maybe  _you’re_  drunk.» A pause while Tarantulas considered what Prowl would be like drunk; his own Prowl had been positively awful. «Interfacing… s’seeeerious business.» 
> 
> Indistinct churring. «Nnnot that it matters. Now you  _know_ , and everything’s good. We’re _good_ , right?» 

Prowl

> « _Good?!_  I’ve been  _burning out my processor_  for two days, trying to figure out what the  _hell_  you were so bothered about, and now you’re telling me I  _had it right_  the  _first_  time!»

Tarantulas

> Well, color Tarantulas surprised. Prowl all worked up over  _him_  for two days? He wished he could be proud about something other than mystifying Prowl with  _eggs_ , but he wasn’t feeling picky at the moment. More churring.
> 
> «Well that’s  _your_  fault you couldn’t figure it out. You’re wel -  _welcome_ I got drunk, then. Obviously I should get drunk more off’n.»  

Prowl

> « _I **did**  figure it out!_ YOU’RE the one who thinks interfacing is in some isolated little category by itself that somehow makes it— it—»
> 
> Prowl sat back, sighing harshly. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t his anger.
> 
> «… Sober up. You’re an idiot when you’re drunk.»

Tarantulas

> Yikes. There Tarantulas goes, down to the floor - he was so shocked by the yelling that he lost his grip on the doorframe. Now he’s in a noodley pile of limbs on the ground.
> 
> It takes him a moment to gather his wits. OK. Probably best to just… let this lie. Like he was. On the floor. «I’lllllll… I’ll get there. Sometime. Don’t know the  _long_ term effects - how long the  _half-life_ …» Hic.
> 
> At least he didn’t deny he was an idiot.

Prowl

> «What’s wrong with your fuel intake moderation chip, can’t you reactivate it? Or did you somehow manage to destroy it?»

Tarantulas

> «I… didn’t  _make_ one. Hyeh. Not for the - the obtenteum. Hadn’t made high grade til today, anyways. Nnno reason.»
> 
> A ponderous hum. «Maybe I could… makeshift…» And off he goes, trying to get up so he can get to his workbench.

Prowl

> «What do you mean, you didn’t  _make_  one? Why would—don’t you  _have_  one? Did you leave the FIM chip out of your design?!» Prowl pulled up Tarantulas’s anatomical data to check. This would be a lot easier if he knew where the FIM chip was supposed to be installed.

Tarantulas

> Aww man. Progress toward the workbench: one foot. What if he transformed and tried to crawl over? Yes, that sounded like a good idea. Except he didn’t have the energy to transform. Scrap.
> 
> «I have the  _old_  one. But that’s for  _energon_ , not - not obtenteum… If I tried to reactivvvate it it’d fry, probably.» 

Prowl

> «Are you telling me you stuck a new form of untested high grade in your system without having an FIM chip that could clean it out?! I take back what I said—you’re an idiot when you’re sober, too.»

Tarantulas

> Incoherent mumbling for a little while as Tarantulas tried to so some complex calculations in his head and proceeded to fail spectacularly.
> 
> «I didn’t - don’t blame  _past-me_ , he doesn’t… doesn’t deserve that. I didn’t  _mean_  to test - it’s complicated. Leave me alone.» Grump grump.
> 
> On second thought: «…Nnnno, I didn’t mean that, don’t leave meee…»

Prowl

> «Past-you is still you, you aren’t separate entities.» Although that made Prowl wonder—how much did Tarantulas still identify with the person who used to be Mesothulas? How much  _could_  he identify…?
> 
> No. Not relevant to the conversation.
> 
> «How could you  _not mean_  to test it? Did the entire contents of your brew _accidentally_  tip into your mouth and pour down your throat?»

Tarantulas

> That would be a wonderful question for Tarantulas when he was sober. Right now the only response would probably be something like what he said anyway.
> 
> « _Plane waves_ , Prowl… plane waves.» …And that’s all the explanation you’re going to get.
> 
> «It’s - you haven’t had obtenteum before, it’s… and now it’s  _high grade_. I sssampled a little after some testing and… you can’t  _not_  have a little more, Prowl. Just a  _little._ » 
> 
> A sip, then a beaker, then half a dozen. No big deal.

Prowl

> And he didn’t have the slightest idea what Tarantulas meant by plane waves.
> 
> «So it’s extremely strong, rapidly addictive, and triggers binging behavior, and you converted it into  _another_  form that’s strong, addictive, and triggers binging behavior, and then you decided to sample it.»

Tarantulas

> «You make it sound so… so… It was  _deliberate_  in sssome sense, I guess, but - not like - obtenteum’s  _different_  for mechs who’re built t’use it.» Mostly true, but still didn’t make Tarantulas any less guilty of the binging bit.

Prowl

> «You’re making excuses for a mistake. Don’t do that. Learn from the mistake and endeavor not to repeat it.»

Tarantulas

> Sloppy chittering. «It wasn’t a  _mistake.._. I don’t think, maybe. I don’t know. IIII won’t know that until - until tomorrow, or something.» 

Prowl

> «You couldn’t control your intake responsibly, and you told me something I’m fairly certain you will regret telling me when you’re sober again. That certainly sounds like a mistake.
> 
> «But fine. Review it tomorrow and change your behavior accordingly.»

Tarantulas

> «Resssponsibility is for  _science_ , and I’m - I’m  _off-duty_.» Don’t remind him that doing science was the reason he got to this point in the first place. «Besides, that was the… I…» Tarantulas trailed off into mumbling. 
> 
> Eventually he laboriously pulled himself back to the conversation. «…Fiiiiiine. Will you - are you still - well of  _course_  you’re talking to me now, but…» 

Prowl

> « _Everything_  is science, Tarantulas. Especially experimenting with unknown substances.»
> 
> Why did he have to be a mumbly drunk? A mumbly drunk that trailed off every few words. «Am I still what? Annoyed with you? Disappointed in your choices?»

Tarantulas

> « _Sssscience_. Like, capital S science. In - » Hic. « - informal fuckery doesn’t  _count_.»
> 
> Sorry, Prowl, Tarantulas’ processor can’t handle thinking and talking at the same time right now; hence, broken sentences and fragmented thoughts.
> 
> «Yes. That. Those. But like - mostly, do you… you probably don’t  _hate_  me, but it’s…» …Wait, what was he asking again? 

Prowl

> «Informal ff— It  _absolutely_  counts. The same principles of chemistry and cyberphysiology that apply to substances that are being vigorously experimented upon continue to apply to those substances outside of an experimental setting.»
> 
> _Sigh_. «I can’t answer a question if you can’t finish asking it.»

Tarantulas

> You really shouldn’t make your sentences that long, Prowl. You lost Tarantulas somewhere around “experimented,” or maybe even “cyberphysiology.”
> 
> «Well,  _I’m_  the scientist, just - just trust me. The capital S and the fuckery, they’re - they’re  _absolutely_ different.»
> 
> More mumbling. «I don’t - you  _know_  what I mean. Nevermind. Nnnevermind.»

Prowl

> «You’re not the scientist. You are drunk. You are in no condition to differentiate between capital S and lower-case f.
> 
> «If I knew what you meant, I would have answered the question.»

Tarantulas

> «Nono, I could  _totally_  tell, they’ve got - different strokes. One and two.» He proceeded to draw squiggly S’s and F’s on the floor for a little while.
> 
> A flickering lightblub went off in Tarantulas’ head. «Maybe I - maybe I don’t  _want_  you to answer it… That. That makes  _sense._ »

Prowl

> «I’m referring to the difference between the signified objects, not the signifiers.»
> 
> Prowl groaned. And he’d wasted that time trying to chasing down a question Tarantulas didn’t have any intent of actually asking. «Fine. Then I  _won’t_.»

Tarantulas

> Still drawing letters on the floor. «Signiffff… you mean… Hyeh, you just don’t wann’ say _fuckery_. Silly Prowl.» 
> 
> Technically Tarantulas still wanted to ask the question, but it wasn’t one question, and he couldn’t articulate it. And it wasn’t that he didn’t  _want_  an answer - he was just _nervous_. Not that he’d say that to Prowl.
> 
> Nngh, it was all so vague, and his processor was positively swimming… He’d deal with it later. As a reply, he just chittered a little. « _Good_.»

Prowl

> «… That’s beside the point. And there’s nothing “silly” about it.»
> 
> If Tarantulas couldn’t figure out his own mind, then Prowl certainly couldn’t figure it out. His best estimate was Tarantulas wanted to ask something about whether Prowl would be willing to talk to him again after this mess, but he wasn’t certain of that and he had the impression that there was more to it than such a simple yes-or-no question.
> 
> « _Good._  Are we done here?»

Tarantulas

> «Oh it toootally  _is_  silly, but - but then again you’ve  _always_  been silly, Prowl.» Some giggling floated across the commlink.
> 
> «Mmm…  _probably_. Maybe. What did I…» What had he comm’d Prowl for? Eggs. Yes. That was settled now, so he guessed he didn’t have an active reason for chatting anymore. «Ssssure?» 

Prowl

> A long-suffering sigh. Always admired, never respected.
> 
> «Then I’m hanging up.»

Tarantulas

> A small whine from Tarantulas’ end, but he couldn’t really complain. «Alrightttt. Well - well, wish me  _luck,_ Prowl!» (He neglected to tell him  _what_  to wish him luck for, but nevermind that.)

Prowl

> «… What?» No—never mind. It was stock phrase gibberish, nothing more. No actual meaning.
> 
> Prowl hung up.

 

* * *

 

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had been floating in and out of wretched consciousness for the last twelve hours. Somehow he’d managed to get himself up off the floor and into his hammock so at least he wasn’t completely miserable, but the hangover was still beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. Yes, next project on the lineup: FIM chip for obtenteum high grade. After he gave the stuff a proper name, probably.
> 
> His memory of the last three days was spotty at best. He had a series of shitty pictures he’d drawn along the way and fragments of three broken beakers, but no other evidence to deduce things from. Well - he did have his comm records. Might as well delve into that now…
> 
> …Of course he comm’d Prowl. His tanks sank in dread. There was nothing good that could have come from a conversation between sober Prowl and drunk Tarantulas. Now, to decide if ignorance was bliss, or if he wanted to pin down the gory details…
> 
> He caved and sent Prowl a nervous ping.

Prowl

> When the terrible drawings had trailed off, part of Prowl had suspected that Tarantulas had drunk himself into a processor-damaged stasis coma. Apparently not.
> 
> And he’d even decided to comm Prowl again. Interesting. 46% odds had said he’d be too ashamed to; 33% said it would take at least a week for him to work up the nerve. This meant he probably had no recollection of what he’d said.
> 
> Prowl didn’t even bother with a greeting. «Are you sober?»

Tarantulas

> Uh-oh. Tarantulas wasn’t sure if the lack of greeting was out of familiarity or terseness, but he was heavily betting on the latter.
> 
> «Unfortunately, _yes._ Hellaciously so.» A pause, then: «…I take it you probably had an interesting conversation with my inebriated self sometime in the past couple days.»

Prowl

> This is Prowl. It could easily be both at the same time.
> 
> «I take it you remember nothing about the conversation.» In which case, he’d better explain. «You commed me to explain the egg situation. What you told me is _exactly_ what _I_ predicted it was—an enjoyment of eggs themselves and discomfort _only_ with the thought of others’ expected reactions—with the _minor_ addition of a sexual aspect, which _you_ seemed to believe changed the subject substantially enough that you were fully justified in mockingly claiming that I had _completely missed the point._ I hope you’re now in your right mind enough to acknowledge how patently absurd that is.»
> 
> Nope, nope, it’s definitely the latter. He’s still mad.

Tarantulas

> Ohhh Primus. Oh please no. Of course that’s what he’d done. He had a vague idea that he’d wanted to get drunk for _some_  reason, but this… It took quite some time to gather the courage to respond to Prowl.
> 
> «I - hesitantly, mind you - would like to point out that the, err - _sexual_ aspect - is rather pivotal, when considering what makes the distinction. You might have noticed that it was significant enough that I had to get royally  _drunk_  to admit that to you.»

Prowl

> «It isn’t pivotal at all! It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference! I was essentially correct, and you _mocked_ me! You acted like I was completely off base! You implied I was _incapable_ of understanding! And _I was right!_ »
> 
> Make that very mad.

Tarantulas

> Every decibel Prowl raises his voice, Tarantulas sinks down a little further in his hammock. He’s never felt this cowed before. 
> 
> «I wasn’t _mocking_  you, I - I was getting _defensive_. I don’t know why you seem so blasé about the topic, but it’s, maybe it’s different here, I’m not sure.» Some more squirming. «…I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to bring up sexual subject matter so early on. Like this. It’s _uncomfortable,_ Prowl.» 

Prowl

> Prowl was fully prepared to tell Tarantulas exactly what he thought about his defensiveness—until Tarantulas said he was _uncomfortable._ Again. Prowl choked on his words. Of course Tarantulas was uncomfortable. He hadn’t wanted Prowl to have this information and Prowl was castigating him for not having been more forthcoming with it. What was wrong with him?
> 
> He focused on the world around him again. The Constructicons had all stopped what they were doing to stare up at him. Prowl couldn’t blame them; he was behaving exactly like one of them. He leaned back in his chair, tipped his head back, and laced his hands over his optics.
> 
> Calm the hell down.
> 
> «I—do not—understand it.» His voice was strained, a tremble of suppressed rage underlining his words. But he was choosing his words carefully now. He wasn’t shouting. «This—shame that you have. About things you enjoy. Things _everyone_ enjoys. I don't—I don’t understand the—the fear—the compulsion—to pretend it doesn’t exist. It's—foreign.»
> 
> He fell silent. He didn’t know where to go from there. He’d been completely out of line. He’d been cruel.
> 
> «… I don’t expect you to explain it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t tell if he preferred the suppressed rage or the shouting - at least with the shouting he knew exactly where he stood. This new tone was… frightening, almost, and entirely unlike the Prowl that he knew.
> 
> «Well, err, to be fair, most people don’t necessary _enjoy_  o-oviposition, it’s a pretty niche thing. But I, I somewhat understand. It’s, I think, more the… the aspect of… I didn’t anticipate discussing this, now. I’m not necessary _opposed_  to or _squeamish_  about interfacing chatter, but like I said before, we… we barely know each other, to be frank.»

Prowl

> Swallow the anger. Lock it away. In a moment it will be inaudible.
> 
> «I’m talking about interfacing, not the eggs. I don’t understand people who are uncomfortable with discussing sex.»
> 
> There. It was gone. He sounded exactly as deadpan as he always did.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was still sunk low in the hammock, his spider legs curling in close. He didn’t trust Prowl not to explode on him any minute now, no matter how cool and collected he sounded presently.
> 
> «I was - kind of referring to that, but yes. I don’t suppose it’s entirely rational. I guess I just assume… it’s kind of a _personal_  thing. It says a lot about someone to know their interfacing tastes. So, hyeh. There you go.»

Prowl

> «… Our universes are different. Very few mechs have experience with universes where interfacing is taboo. Expect it to be treated casually as long as you are here.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s not - _taboo_ is a strong word, I guess. But I, ah, understand.» 
> 
> So Tarantulas would have to get more comfortable real quick, it sounded like - although it did help that he hardly socialized.
> 
> «Between me and you, though, it’s - I hope you’ll understand it’s a little awkward of a subject. I’m not quite going to, err. Be particularly chatty about it all.»

Prowl

> «I don’t bring up the subject with anyone who doesn’t bring it up first.»
> 
> Unless they have a history of comfortably discussing the subject with each other and no icebreaker was needed. That wasn’t the case with Tarantulas.
> 
> «We won’t talk about it.»

Tarantulas

> Well scrap, that kind of backfired, in a complicated way that Tarantulas really didn’t want to be thinking about at the moment.
> 
> «A-alright. That suffices. Although…» An awkward noise. «That does somewhat limit conversation, as in, intelligent minds ought to be able to discuss _any_  sort of subject, if that, err, makes sense.»

Prowl

> An irritated sigh. What did Tarantulas _want_?
> 
> «If you want to talk about it, we’ll talk about it. If you don’t, we won’t. It makes no difference to me.»

Tarantulas

> Sorry Prowl, this spider’s fickle, temperamental nature isn’t going to change anytime soon. At least this time it’s marginally rational.
> 
> «Well, at the least, not right now, I think? We can, ah. Deal with it when it comes up.» When, not if.

Prowl

> «“When it comes up.”» The flattest voice.

Tarantulas

> Nnnrgh. Oops.
> 
> «Not like - _Primus_. I’m just saying. Nevermind.» Sliding even more down the hammock until he can’t anymore. «I’m _severely_  hung-over and not - my processor’s not prioritizing diction at the moment.» 

Prowl

> «Clearly not.
> 
> «Try not to let your fantasies run away with you. You aren’t on my list.» It takes a great, great deal of self-control to resist the urge to say _yet_.

Tarantulas

> Ooh, that stung. Good thing Tarantulas was a master of self-delusion.
> 
> «I don’t - _fantasies_? Prowl -» A pause as Tarantulas gathered himself. «I’m not _running_ anywhere, and certainly not with fantasies.» He gave himself a mental high five for carefully dancing around outright denial of said fantasies.
> 
> «…Of course you keep a list, though, I should have known.»

Prowl

> And, again— «“ _When_  it comes up.”» Just to remind Tarantulas.
> 
> «My phrasing was misleading. It’s not so much a list of people as a list of criteria. You don’t meet them.»

Tarantulas

> Another cringe as it was repeated to him. He was never going to live this one down, was he. But…
> 
> «Criteria? You’re just _begging_ for me to ask for more information. Go on, I’ll admit to being curious.» 

Prowl

> «I thought you were uncomfortable with the subject matter.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas rubbed his face with a fuzzy claw. «I - _specific_  subject matter, mostly. This is just a list of criteria for - something. You haven’t even clarified _that_ , I might add.» As if he didn’t already know.

Prowl

> «Sex, Tarantulas. Criteria for sex. You can’t even say it yourself; you have to lead me into saying it for you.»

Tarantulas

> « _I was being facetious._ I should invent some special overtone for when I’m doing that, for all the use it’s been in conversation with you thus far.» …Not actually a bad idea.
> 
> «I’m - I’m going to try to explain this to you simply. I’m generally discomfited by talking about interfacing, but that doesn’t make me appalled by it, nor does it smother my curiosity. Forgive me for being a multifaceted individual.
> 
> «With that said, am I now _allowed_ to be _curious_  what your criteria are?»

Prowl

> «Considering how our most recent conversations have gone, I suspected it was facetiousness designed to mask genuine discomfort.» That said, he would not object to a facetiousness signal.
> 
> «Of course you’re allowed to be curious. Before you get ahead of yourself, that does not mean I’m going to give you a bulletpointed list.»

Tarantulas

> You’re not wrong about the masked discomfort, Prowl. Tarantulas mostly uses facetiousness, hyperbole, and sarcasm as retcons when his statements get misinterpreted.
> 
> A snort. «Yes, of course. Wouldn’t want me going along trying to check things off your list. I’m just interested to see what you’d constitute a - a worthy candidate, per se.»

Prowl

> «And now you’re using facetiousness designed to mask exactly what I’m sure you’d do.»
> 
> His criteria list has only three explicit items. Tarantulas meets two of them and is rapidly gaining ground on the third.
> 
> But it has a whole host of _implicit_  items, including but not limited to: “he can’t comfortably have sex if he can’t comfortably discuss sex.” Which Prowl could easily list if he wanted to give Tarantulas a reason why Prowl was saying no to the mere possibility, but Tarantulas didn’t _need_  a reason, and in any case Prowl was quite sure that Tarantulas would just try to battle his way through his discomfort so that he could check off that criterium.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had to steady himself with a claw to his face again. _Primus_. He couldn’t get away with anything with this mech. Prowl was too… _Prowl_. Something he’d missed, but something he’d be eternally adjusting to.
> 
> «No, I was genuinely - well, _genuine_. As far as I’m concerned, interest in interfacing has more to do with an underlying chemistry between partners and not a list of data points. Which is why I’m curious about _yours_ , since it’s fundamentally _different_.
> 
> «…Wait. Scratch that. Chemistry. Science. Facts. Data. Urgh.»

Prowl

> Yes, quite a few people had that complaint about him.
> 
> A suppressed laugh; the amusement was in his tone. «Everyone has their data points. Most simply don’t bother to identify them—they think it eliminates the passion. The average mech believes that “elucidating attraction as data points” is tantamount to “reducing attraction to data points.” I don’t think data is a reduction.
> 
> «And it appears you’re figuring that out yourself.»

Tarantulas

> «As if I haven’t been dealing with interpreting to and from data points my whole life.» A snort. «This may be the first time I’ve considered the thought relative to interfacing, I suppose. I certainly don’t have a criteria list of my own.»

Prowl

> «Perhaps not consciously. But everyone who interfaces has criteria.»

Tarantulas

> «Fair enough. Although it sounds like the ones who’re aware of their criteria are either incredibly introspective or incredibly picky.» Hm… he could imagine Prowl belonging to both camps.

Prowl

> «Incredibly introspective. One can be incredibly picky without being aware of one’s criteria. Ever met a mech who had no idea how to elucidate what he wants—only that whatever it was, he wasn’t getting it?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ plating ruffled slightly in embarrassment. He was the very definition of that mech, and he knew it. «Yes, yes I have. …Pickiness does have a hand in it though. One wouldn’t have criteria if they didn’t have standards.»
> 
> Ugh… how could he get Prowl to elaborate on his list without straight-up asking? At this point he was wondering whether it might be best to leave it be and spare himself the painful details of things he was lacking in.
> 
> …Nope. He still wanted to know.

Prowl

> Prowl met Tarantulas’s standards. As far as he was concerned, anybody whose standards he met couldn’t be that picky. Or else had really bizarre standards. … Tarantulas could be either.
> 
> «One can have standards without being picky. It’s a continuum.»

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas might just be the pickiest bot on this side of the multiverse. He’s got optics only for Prowl. Bizarre standards it is, then.
> 
> « _Everything’s_  a continuum. Or a graph. Or a tangled web, whatever you like. I’m imagining in this case that your list is on the higher side of the picky continuum, though.» If Tarantulas wasn’t on the list, it _better_  be because Prowl was picky.

Prowl

> «Continuum,» Prowl insisted. «The only variable concerned is the quantity and specificity of—» Wait. Those were two variables. «… X-Y graph. Quantity of standards and specificity of standards.» … It could probably still be reduced to a continuum though.
> 
> «Yes, most people imagine that.»

Tarantulas

> «Highly specific standards can be broken down into multiple simpler statements, so it’s just a continuum,» Tarantulas countered. «…And how many people do you think are imagining your personal sex life standards, pray tell?»
> 
> Prowl was avoiding the topic. Ugh. Tarantulas wasn’t going to get anything detailed out of this conversation. It didn’t seem fair, after the whole egg debacle…

Prowl

> And Tarantulas had finished Prowl’s train of thought before he even articulated it. The corner of his mouth twitched. «Very true. So it is. Although a mere count of the quantity of standards or sub-standards isn’t sufficient—rarity of the standard may affect it. Would you weight a mech who requires his partners to have exactly two optics the same as a mech who requires his partners to have exactly five optics, or would you rate him more lightly? Their standards are equally rigid, but there’s the appearance that the former is less picky because his requirement is more common. Does commonness counteract pickiness?» This was moving into a completely pointless conversation.
> 
> «I can say, with complete confidence, that fifty percent of the current participants in this conversation are doing their best to imagine it.» A thin smirk.
> 
> «I don’t know how many imagine it. Far too many people, if you ask me. I’ve heard an absolutely obnoxious amount of rumors about myself, most of which ascribe to me impossibly high standards. I’ve been propositioned by mechs who expressed blatant surprise when I didn’t shoot them down.» Which was a problem for multiple reasons; both because people with a reciprocated interest in Prowl might never approach him because they assumed he would be disinterested; and because a disappointing number of people who _did_ approach him did so only as a joke, because they thought it would be funny to needle him with an unwanted solicitation and expected him to say no. «It would be a lot easier for everyone if they stopped trying to _guess_ at my interests and then trying to act on their guesses.»

Tarantulas

> It seemed Prowl and Tarantulas had a penchant for getting into completely pointless conversations. This time was no exception.
> 
> «That depends on whether you’re assessing the commonness of the characteristic or the commonness of the preference itself. Both would be rated as more common = less picky, but it’d say the… hmm. The former holds more weight in the overall scale.»
> 
> It was a good thing Tarantulas couldn’t blush, otherwise he’d feel the heat rising in his cheeks at Prowl’s pointed comment.
> 
> He’d actually _already_ heard a handful of these rumors; he could believe it. «Well, what _ought_ they act on, then? I imagine most mechs aren’t confident enough to come up and ask you - o-or maybe I’m just speaking for myself.»

Prowl

> «So pickiness is rated not exclusively by, objectively speaking, how many criteria they have, but also by how much each criterium reduces their interfacing pool?» A moment of thoughtful contemplation. «… I would disagree with adding in the commonness of the preference as a criterium. If two mechs desire two different traits that each is found in ten percent of the population, but the first trait is commonly desired and the second trait uncommonly, I would rank that as equally picky because their preferences each cut out ninety percent of the eligible population. … Their pickiness may be _made_ unequal if, for instance, the commonness of the preference for the first trait makes for great competition, to the extent that those possessing said trait have become highly selective about which partners they’re willing to accept, thus reducing each mech’s odds of successfully finding one who’s willing to interface… But that’s a consequence of the desired mechs’ pickiness, not the original desiring mechs’ pickiness. I think factoring in broader sociological trends may overcomplicate the simple continuum.»
> 
> Has Tarantulas heard about the stoplight one yet? It’s not true. Please don’t believe it’s true. «They ought act on the facts, which can only be reliably obtained from the source. They _should_  ask me. _Everyone_  should ask the mechs they’re interested in what their preferences are, rather than skulking around behind their backs trying to pick up rumors. What’s the point of possessing the capacity for language if it isn’t used to communicate? And if they aren’t confident enough to ask themselves, they should do what everyone else does when they have a secret crush and send a friend to ask.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, I was getting at a different sociological trend, actually. One bot preferring a commonly desired trait is less picky than one preferring a rarely desired one because it’s _easier_  to prefer something that’s socially common. Of course one has to take into account that sexual preference isn’t necessarily a choice but more of an inherent mess, but then again, _specifying_ one’s criteria is an act of choice and requires subconscious contemplation of societal norms.
> 
> «For example, take an exclusionary rule that a bot won’t interface with beastformers. That’s societally influenced and ties into her upraising or prior experience with beastformers. Given that societal norms are on her side and the choice of explicitly excluding beastformers is a choice she’d have had to clarify, it’d most likely be considered a “less picky” criterum than a preference _for_  beastformers, which would be a more socially-risky choice to make, or at least to declare.»
> 
> Nope, not the stoplight one yet, no. You’re safe for now, Prowl. «Sending a friend to ask isn’t always an option, I’ll have you know. But, well. I, err. Hope I’m getting points in your book for coming to the source, despite the… circumstances.»

Prowl

> «Should ease of deciding to make that a criteria be factored into it? I’m not convinced. We’re not discussing what’s _commonly_  considered “less picky,” in some imprecise colloquial way. We’re trying to construct an objective measure of individual pickiness. While societal forces undeniably shape the traits that a mech chooses or doesn’t choose to exclude—if indeed we can use the word “choice” for what’s largely an unconscious and involuntary process—he ultimately ends up with the same quantity of criteria as someone whose pickiness isn’t influenced as strongly by societal forces.
> 
> «But… I suppose that _does_  bring up the subject of _implicit_  criteria—ones considered so universally acceptable that no one considers them worthy of even mentioning. For instance—to use a far more extreme example than yours—should a refusal to interface with insentient organic alien corpses qualify as a criteria? Or not, since rejecting such a partner would nearly _universally_  be embraced as a minimum standard? If something is widely undesirable, if someone does desire it or would at least accept it, does that make it—as you say— a “less picky” criterium? Or is it an… an entirely different…»
> 
> He fell silent.
> 
> «… How long have we been talking about this?» Oh, he did not want to rewind his recordings to see.
> 
> «Yes, you get points somewhere. Although “asked me about my criteria” isn’t one of my criteria.»

Tarantulas

> As soon as Prowl cut off, Tarantulas started snickering. «I was wondering when you’d cut us off. It’s alright, Prowl, just file it under mental exercise and complex verbalization practice. I get the impression you don’t get to do this often, anyway.»
> 
> Aww, shame. Tarantulas would have loved the chance to tick one off the list. «Oh, I didn’t expect it to be. Your criteria won’t be any less than succinct, that seems like a trivial one.»

Prowl

> «Yes, that’s what I’m doing.» Usually he engaged in mental exercises and complex verbalization practice with mechs he wasn’t currently _investigating_  for potentially being involved with a _universe-ending chaos cult_ , though. That was the real problem here.
> 
> «Oh, so you _do_  think my criteria are succinct. Then you just think my specificity is too high, I take it.»

Tarantulas

> «Of course they’re succinct. It’s just that… well, I suppose the specificity of the individual statements probably isn’t high, but combined they cut out different swathes of the population instead of overlapping much. This is a wild guess, though.»

Prowl

> Prowl sighed. They’d just spent he-didn’t-want-to-check-how-long talking about a hypothetical pickiness continuum. And, upon further review, there was no change Tarantulas could make in himself to attempt to meet Prowl’s criteria that Prowl didn’t want him to make anyway. So…
> 
> «Three criteria. The mech expresses a positive interest in me. The mech demonstrates an intelligence that is at the eighty-fifth percentile for Cybertronians—sixty-fifth percentile if it’s been a while. The mech has less than a ten percent probability of using an interfacing session to kill, kidnap, blackmail, or otherwise grievously harm me. Plus baseline, nigh-on universally accepted criteria—such as “we’re anatomically compatible,” or “he hasn’t killed my best friend”—but by the “preferring a commonly desired trait counts less against pickiness” rule you put forth earlier, those criteria barely count.»
> 
> That’s it. The hardest part is being smart. His only other two criteria are “be a little bit nice to me and don’t try to harm me,” which most people who  _weren’t_  Prowl would probably count as universally accepted criteria.
> 
> Prowl was certain Mr. Can-Barely-See-The-85th-Percentile-In-His-Rearview-Mirror here would be able to easily identify which criteria he hasn’t met. He braced himself for Tarantulas’s righteous indignation.

Tarantulas

> #1 - check. #2 - check. #3…
> 
> «What in the - you think I’d _harm_  you in any way?» Tarantulas’ vocals were pitched up slightly, his fur fluffed. If this was the only reason Prowl wouldn’t ~~hypothetically~~ interface with him… «What would I even have to gain from _killing_ or _blackmailing_ , or what purpose would _kidnapping_  you even serve? It’s not as if - Prowl, you _know_  me. Or even if you don’t, you still _do_ , you _know_ what I mean.»

Prowl

> As predictable as clockwork.
> 
> «I don’t think you’d harm me. The probability is under fifty percent. I’m just not convinced _enough_ that you won’t.»
> 
> He’s not going to let Tarantulas know that, for especially shady characters, the probability of harm has to be 3%. Both because he didn’t need to deal with the outrage and because Tarantulas didn’t need to be informed that he was considered an especially shady character.

Tarantulas

> «You’re _lying_ . Under fifty is hardly comforting - I might as well be at 49.9% for all that matters. I can’t -» Vague frustrated noises, then a deep vent. «…This goes beyond interfacing at this point. If you don’t trust me fundamentally to not _hurt_  you, that’s, that’s…»

Prowl

> «I’m not lying. I’m clarifying the statistics.» Don’t call him a liar when he’s using _raw, unadulterated mathematics._
> 
> «… Numbers change. You’re moving in the correct direction.» That’s as much mercy as Prowl can show.

Tarantulas

> «It’s not the _statistics_ , it’s that you said you didn’t think I’d _harm_ you. I’m glad to know I’m gaining ground, but it’s not - not sufficient. Your predictions don’t match reality.»
> 
> Tarantulas went quiet for a while. For once, it wasn’t a sullen silence per se, just an aimlessly bitter one.

Prowl

> «I don’t think you will, that’s what a probability under fifty percent means. My prediction is that you’re more likely to not hurt me than to hurt me, so I certainly hope it _ does _ match reality.»

Tarantulas

> «You needn’t lecture me on statistics. I know very well what you meant, just as you know what _I_ meant.» Another stretch of silence before he added: «Why don’t you trust me? …And don’t give me some stock scrap about not knowing me. It’s like I said. You do.»

Prowl

> Oh, what did he say to that? He could hardly say _at least one of your alternates works for the embodiment of chaos and you’ve said and done a few worrisome things that suggest you might as well._ He could find that part out _after_ he’d been cleared.
> 
> So what lie could he tell? _No, I don’t know you; you’re too different_ would be effective—but it would also encourage Tarantulas to redouble his efforts to impersonate Mesothulas.
> 
> «… After what I did, you _should_ want to hurt me. It’s only _rational._ » Blame it on himself and his own hang-ups, and minimize the odds that Tarantulas would try to alter his own behavior to pacify Prowl’s misgivings (which Tarantulas _was_ blowing out of proportion, whether he thought he was or not).

Tarantulas

> That couldn’t possibly be it. Not after everything, not with Prowl knowing Tarantulas now, and knowing who Mesothulas had been…
> 
> « _Should_  doesn’t mean  _will_ , you _know_  that.» Tarantulas’ voice was a little strained. «It certainly doesn’t warrant fifty-fifty odds like that, it’s not - I’m not a rational person who abides by your generalized rules, Prowl. I suppose that makes me a little unpredictable, but it’s - it’s not _like_  that. I wouldn’t have come back after all this time - _millennia_ , Primus - just for some petty vengeance that I could have meted out long ago!»
> 
> Suddenly it occurred to Tarantulas that things could have taken an entirely different turn, if Prowl’s fears were reality. Tarantulas, taking out his pain and suffering on his native Prowl, and coming out of it dissatisfied enough to wander the multiverse striking out at every alternate he could get his claws on… Tarantulas shivered violently. The thought almost made him nauseous.

Prowl

> «So you say. But I don’t _know_ that. I _can’t_ know that. The absence of retaliation does not guarantee none is coming. You have changed, Tarantulas, you cannot deny that. And I’ve had friends who changed far less than you who became willing to hurt me far worse than you’ve demonstrated.»
> 
> Every good lie was built upon a foundation of truth. But Prowl wondered if perhaps that was a little too much truth.
> 
> … No. Nearly everyone Prowl trusted ultimately turned on him. Tarantulas wouldn’t be able to deduce anything conclusive from what Prowl had said.

Tarantulas

> No worries, Prowl. Tarantulas took the assertion rather generally, no suspicions of any particulars here.
> 
> «So how can I _prove_ it to you then? Is it something time is going to alleviate, or are you perpetually going to resist trusting me with anything?» A moment’s restless reflection before he sighed and added, «…No, I… I haven’t changed _that_ much, to be honest. Moreso in frame than in mind.»

Prowl

> «Time. Time and good behavior.» And the tests Tarantulas didn’t know he was taking. «I’m not in your mind. It’s harder to tell what has changed and what hasn’t from here.»

Tarantulas

> Something in Tarantulas seemed to wilt at the prospect of such a slow recovery of trust. Or was it really a recovery? Things were so muddled, personas melded into a fuzzy mess.
> 
> A snort, one that hid an underlying unease. «I - well, you _could_  know. Be in my mind. But you’re infinitely averse to the idea, I’m sure.»

Prowl

> « **_ Infinitely. _ ** » The word came out far more sharply than Prowl intended or noticed. «Regardless, that’s an activity for _ after _ trust has been established—not a means of establishing it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wilted a little more, then turned the emotion to half-sparked bitterness. Knowing ahead of time that the idea of hardlining would always be rejected never made Prowl’s vehement responses any easier to swallow.
> 
> «As you say.» He’d refrain from being hopeful about the way Prowl seemed to suggest it _would_  happen - for some reason he felt he didn’t deserve it at the moment.

Prowl

> Focus on the “infinitely,” Tarantulas, not on the “after trust has been established.”
> 
> «… I don’t understand why you’re so keen to try to interface with me when you aren’t even comfortable talking about what you want out of interfacing. What in the world would you have done if I’d said, “Fine, good idea, let’s plug in and swap files”?»

Tarantulas

> A light bout of whiplash - now Tarantulas was back into the realm of flustered defensiveness. «It’s not - that’s _different_ , and it’s not as if I’m going to simply proposition you right this second, it’s a matter of - of _principle_. I didn’t think you’d actually take me up on my offer at the time, it was just a way of expressing interest in a relatively harmless environment.» 
> 
> What _would_  he have done if Prowl actually suggested they go through with hardlining? Probably immediately try to talk him out of it for various practical reasons to hide whatever else was going on. 

Prowl

> «That _wasn’t_  a tentative proposition? Because that’s certainly what it sounded like.»
> 
> Prowl noted Tarantulas didn’t answer the question. He wouldn’t pursue it. It was uncomfortable subject matter for Tarantulas, it didn’t have to be addressed now.

Tarantulas

> «I mean, it - it was a layered thing, because on some levels it was a proposition but it wasn’t meant as such? A figurative proposition, I suppose.»
> 
> It momentarily occurred to Tarantulas that Prowl might miss the subtlety of such things in the same way he sometimes struggled with sarcasm - but _still_. 

Prowl

> «A figurative proposition. It _was_  a proposition, but it wasn’t _meant_  as such.» He’s repeating it to highlight just how ridiculous that sounds. «Mhmm.»

Tarantulas

> The ridiculousness is lost on Tarantulas. All Prowl gets in response is a sigh, and: « _Yes._ But I know you don’t get it, so we might as well just drop the subject.»

Prowl

> Prowl bristled. «I get it. Stop accusing me of not getting things.»

Tarantulas

> «Your incredulous tone indicates otherwise. It’s not - it’s not that you don’t _understand_ what I’m saying, it just doesn’t mean the same thing to you. Surprise surprise - it’s like we’re from completely different universes.»

Prowl

> «You essentially said that it simultaneously was and wasn’t a proposition. That’s ridiculous _regardless_  of your universe of origin.»

Tarantulas

> « _No_ , no it’s not, it’s - forgive the gaucheness of the allegory, but it’s simply a Schrodinger’s cat. It wouldn’t be solely one or the other until you actually approached it, which, you didn’t, so it was _both_.»

Prowl

> A thoughtful pause. «… Fine.» But it still sounded ridiculous.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas seemed a little taken aback at the fact that Prowl actually just took it, given that it was something Tarantulas had come up with on the fly, but he wouldn’t dwell on it.
> 
> Instead his mind bounced back in the conversation. «Oh - you - you said I’m “keen on interfacing” with you earlier. That’s… technically false, by the way.» 

Prowl

> «Yes, you made that clear.» A simultaneous proposition-and-not-proposition wasn’t what Prowl would call a demonstration of enthusiastic interest.

Tarantulas

> «I was - nevermind. I just wanted to emphasize the fact that it’s - interfacing isn’t something I… There’s no reason to dwell on the subject much longer, I suppose. It’s something that’ll come up in its own time, _if_  it so chooses. At the very least, I just didn’t want it to’ve come up like this.»
> 
> Be proud, Prowl. He said if, not when.

Prowl

> «Interfacing isn’t a sentient being. _It_ isn’t going to choose whether or not it comes up.»
> 
> To Prowl’s mind, the correction—even though it’s pointing out the obvious—is non-trivial. Deflecting responsibility for bringing up the topic onto the topic itself hides the fact that two actual people will have to decide to talk about it at some point, and that’s something Tarantulas can’t afford to hide from himself if he’s already so nervous around the subject matter.
> 
> «But no, you’re right, there’s no reason to dwell on it further. The discussion has dragged on far too long already.»

Tarantulas

> «It may not, but the point is it’s obviously not under our _control_  sometimes. Do you really think I deliberately brought this whole _debacle_ down on myself?» A sigh, and Tarantulas rubbed around his visor - the throbbing in his helm was getting worse. Maybe it was time to bow out before it influenced his mood further.
> 
> «Well - consider it finished. Unless we’ve anything else to add.»

Prowl

> «The exchange was a mutual mistake. Either of us could have hung up at any time.» A pause. «… I pushed unnecessarily.»
> 
> What else was there to add to a conversation that shouldn’t have happened in the first place? «No. Nothing.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, as if either of us would have done so. And, well…» An awkward pause. «It, err, may have been necessary. I’m quite obviously being entirely foolish about the whole situation.» 

Prowl

> «If it makes you uncomfortable, it makes you uncomfortable. That’s nothing you can help. There was no pressing need to—to shove through that.»

Tarantulas

> «I - that makes sense.» Although he’d still have some work to do on his own at the very least, getting into a mindset concerning interfacing that’d be more appropriate for this universe.
> 
> «Well, lesson learned. Or lesson **s** _,_ should I say. …Please don’t let me drink my experiments ever again.»

Prowl

> «Next time you consider it, comm me so I can tell you “no.“» Make a ridiculous request, get a ridiculous reply. Although if Tarantulas did comm him, Prowl would certainly tell him no.

Tarantulas

> «Duly noted.» Tarantulas is 67% serious about this, by the way.
> 
> A pained sigh as Tarantulas collected himself and took stock of his aching frame. «Nngh. I’ll speak to you sometime later. It’s recharge time now.»

Prowl

> Then Prowl’s 67% likely to tell him not to do the thing.
> 
> «Drink coolant.» The terse order is the closest Prowl’s going to get to verbally expressing concern over Tarantulas’s hangover.

Tarantulas

> «Yes sir.» It wasn’t certain whether it was said mockingly, sincerely, or with an air of dazed idolatry. Probably a combination of the three.

Prowl

> That’s far more tones in two words than Prowl is comfortable dealing with. He’s going to take that as his cue to hang up.
> 
> A farewell ping and he ends the comm. He’s going to spend the next two hours dissecting this exchange.

Tarantulas

> A reciprocal ping. Tarantulas, on the other hand, is going to spend the next two hours sleeping. And the next two hours. And the next two hours after that, if he can manage it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silly snippet in which Tarantulas admits to having committed grand larceny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spawned from a roleplaying meme in which Tarantulas had to confess the most recent crime he committed, excluding breaking into the prison and deactivating its comm blockers.

Tarantulas

> Lots of grumbling from Tarantulas. Prowl wasn’t going to like this. «Grand larceny.» …And that’s all he’s going to say.

Prowl

> « _Grand_ lar—?! What in the universe did you take?»

Tarantulas

> «…Lab equipment, and curr -» _Frag_. That was different, no need to mention yet _another_  crime. «…Current. Err. Journal access.» 

Prowl

> Prowl rubbed his optics. Of course. Lab equipment and scientific journals. Tarantulas didn’t have a patron to purchase them for him, and he undoubtedly hadn’t been paid by the pack of anarchists he was working with. And although Prowl had never had need to find out, he strongly suspected that Tarantulas’s myriad talents didn’t involve responsible saving and budgeting skills. «All together, how much would it have cost to purchase.»

Tarantulas

> Whew. Prowl took the lie. Thank Primus almighty.
> 
> «…Weeell, enough for it to be considered _grand_ larceny on your Cybertron, let’s just put it that way.» That’s his way of saying “I don’t actually know but it was a shitton.”

Prowl

> Of course he did. Why _wouldn’t_ scientific journals be high on a scientist’s things-to-steal list?
> 
> «I want an itemized list, with prices, including any taxes relevant to the items in question.»

Tarantulas

> Now Prowl had a silently bruxing spider on his hands. If this was what Tarantulas got for fessing up to his crimes, he sure as heck wasn’t gonna be this honest very often.
> 
> «Do you _really_ expect me to remember _all_ the little details? Half of it’s probably been used and disposed of already, I’m not wasting my time tracking it all down, just so you can -» A beat. «- Wait. There are only two reasons I can think of why you’d want a list and I don’t like _either_  of them.» 

Prowl

> «Do the best you can and estimate what you can’t remember if you have to. At some point, you’re going to have to pay back what you stole.»
> 
> Or _somebody_ was going to have to, at any rate. If Prowl ended up funding Tarantulas’s research again, that was going to be him. He wondered if Starscream planned on giving him a paycheck.

Tarantulas

> A lazy whine. «Prowllllll, that’s the _point_  of stealing - so you don’t have to pay for taking something. Besides, I could be lying to you about the stealing right now and you wouldn’t know the difference. It didn’t _hurt_ anyone, I _promise_.»

Prowl

> «I know what the “point” of stealing is. Engaging in it decreases the stability of society and harms the collective well-being of its citizens. Somebody possessed the equipment originally, and the loss of it either deprived him of an opportunity to sell it to a customer, or else forced him to go out and buy new equipment for himself—and so, yes, harm was done. Make a list.»

Tarantulas

> «Scientific manufacturing is the least vulnerable facet of society, believe me. They deserve to get taken down a notch or two.» Tarantulas added a little more aimless whining before he gave in. «…Alrightttt. But it’s at the end of my to-do list.» And Tarantulas didn’t even keep a to-do list.

Prowl

> «Do you have any idea what sort of sorry state Cybertron’s economy and manufacturing capabilities are in right now? _Every_ facet of society is vulnerable. Don’t damage the facet that provides the equipment you need to get your work done.
> 
> «I’ll badger you relentlessly until it’s completed.» Prowl knows Tarantulas doesn’t keep a to-do list.

Tarantulas

> Low mumbling, something about pontification and catastrophizing. Tarantulas knew Prowl was right though, as per usual.
> 
> «Do you _really_  have to do that? I’m not a _child._ »

Prowl

> «Which is good, because I don’t know a single thing about how to get children to do a task. But, fortunately, I know quite a bit about how to get work out of an easily distracted mech who doesn’t want to do the work.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas stared at the wall in annoyance. A moment later he pinged Prowl a “list.”
> 
>   * **_IOU:_** _some flasks and beakers and stuff. a big thingamajig that beeps. toolkit. basic ore samples. more stuff. scanner. don’t remember_
>   * **_Price:_** _a lot, plus taxes_
> 

> 
> Not included: the various currency samples he also stole and proceeded to counterfeit.

Prowl

> «I know you’re capable of doing a proper job. This is not it.»

Tarantulas

> More annoyed staring at the wall - he’d probably end up burning a figurative hole in it pretty soon. Prowl didn’t get a response for quite some time.
> 
> Eventually Tarantulas pinged over a more sufficient list. It was still sloppy, but at least this time it had codes linked to actual items with proper quantities and estimated prices. Nothing seemed suspicious about the actual items themselves - Tarantulas had mostly been stocking up and acquiring universe-compatible versions of things he already had.
> 
> The price auto-compiled at the end. It wasn’t pretty, the equivalent of tens of thousands of dollars, mostly not-sunk in a handful of larger items.

Prowl

> That was a ridiculous sum of money. And it was a sum Tarantulas was never going to pay, and so that meant Prowl was going to have to pay for it. He’d saved enough through the war that he _could,_ but if he didn’t start getting a new paycheck, expenditures like this were going to devour his savings.
> 
> «… That’s adequate.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas got a small chitter of laughter from that. « _Good._  Are we settled now, then?» 

Prowl

> «I… For the moment, I suppose we are.»

Tarantulas

> Wow, a conversation with actual resolution at the end? It seemed almost surreal. «Very well. I’ll be picking the spark signal generator up shortly, by the way.»

Prowl

> «Fine. If I’m not available when you arrive, stay it of sight and wait for me. Don’t just drop off the generator and run, I need to make sure it’s somewhere Starscream’s guards won’t find it. You may make yourself known to the Constructicons if they’re there and I’m not, they’ve been told about you.»

Tarantulas

> As if Tarantulas was going to miss an opportunity to see Prowl again, and the Constructicons too, while he was at it. 
> 
> «I have to run thorough checks of the lodgings and surveillance anyway, as you’ve requested. I’ll ping you when I’m on my way over, in any case, unless you’d prefer I not.»
> 
> A chitter. « _Told_ about me? Alright then. I’m looking forward to it, hyeh.»

Prowl

> «Very well. Yes, ping me when you’re on the way. If I don’t reply, assume I’m presently unable to.» Prowl wouldn’t put it past Tarantulas to ping him in the dead of night, when everyone except him was asleep.
> 
> «… Yes, told about you.» Why, was that amusing?

Tarantulas

> «Understood.» Yes, Tarantulas would totally do that, if the meeting with Rodimus panned out that way.
> 
> «Oh, it was just a funny way of putting it. “They’ve been told about me” makes it sound like they’ve been _warned_.»

Prowl

> «Do you think they haven’t been?» _Technically_  speaking, they hadn’t been “told” anything—they’d just passively received his thoughts over hardline. But Prowl’s thoughts were certainly wary, and now their thoughts were too.

Tarantulas

> Now Tarantulas’ amusement had a bit of wry edge to it. «…I suppose that’s fair. Although I can’t imagine what they would have to be warned of concerning me that’s relative to them.»

Prowl

> For starters, they’d been warned not to answer questions about things that Prowl wouldn’t tell Tarantulas himself. But he wasn’t going to say that because he wanted to see what Tarantulas tried to ask them anyway.
> 
> «They’ve been warned not to freak out and alert the guards if a size-shifting eight-legged alien appears out of thin air. You’re welcome.»

Tarantulas

> Luckily for Tarantulas, he actually wasn’t going to try and wheedle any information out of them, so Prowl wouldn’t have anything to be suspicious about. Tarantulas had a new tactic - make friends first, _then_  gather intel.
> 
> «I’m not _technically_  an alien - but I get the gist. Much appreciated.»

Prowl

> «No, I know you’re not. _They_  wouldn’t know that if you suddenly descended from the ceiling in alt-mode, with nary a spark signature nor flicker of a field to be detected.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, I’d mass-shift and transform soon enough for them to get the picture. I understand though, I really would rather not be an arachnid pancake.»

Prowl

> «Then you underestimate how quickly they can start shouting. Regardless, I doubt they’d react much better to a strange mech in their room. They’re quite diligent about kicking people out as quickly as possible.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor quirked up immediately. «Kicking people out? You have strangers wandering into your quarters often enough for this to be a common response?»

Prowl

> «We’ve had a couple of unwelcome intruders, yes. I expect the Constructicons neglected to lock the door.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas started tapping his claws together anxiously. «That’s - that’s _not_  alright, even if it’s just forgetfulness on their parts, the fact that mechs - multiple - are so keenly interested in getting into your personal apartment…»

Prowl

> «So far, it’s simply been… overly excited admirers. I’d think you’d be sympathetic to the plight of mechs who like me so much they decide to sneak into my room without permission.» Remember? Remember Tarantulas? Remember when you did that?
> 
> «Regardless, measures will be taken to prevent it from happening again.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas ruffled a bit at that one. He wasn’t going to dignify Prowl with a response other than a irritated chitter. Nevermind the fact that Prowl was right though - the fact that there were  _other_  overly excited admirers was a bit threatening, actually…
> 
> «I’d certainly hope so. At the very least, auto-lock and multi-recognition access, if your “green morons” can’t remember to lock the door themselves.»

Prowl

> «Both of those, yes. I’d also add passwords, but—» he raised his voice, speaking to someone else on his end of the comm line «—a third of us would probably forget them!»
> 
> Presumably, two Constructicons are now feeling appropriately chastised.

Tarantulas

> A bit of suppressed laughter on Tarantulas’ end. Cute, Prowl, cute.
> 
> «You know, you’d think that’d be something you all could share across some sort of gestalt bond, but I’ll admit I’ve no idea how it’d hypothetically work.»

Prowl

> «That doesn’t guarantee they’d remember it when we disconnected. I could upload it _ directly _ into their thick helms and there’s still a chance they’d lose the file.»

Tarantulas

> Hmm, Tarantulas would definitely have to ask more about the combiner linking details - but probably not right now. The conversation was going well, but that didn’t mean he was necessarily in Prowl’s good graces - he’d just admitted to stealing a veritable mountain of lab equipment, after all.
> 
> «Hyeh, you certainly seem to think very highly of your combiner-mates. I’ll have to see if your assessments are on point or not when I stop by.»

Prowl

> «No, you don’t want to talk to them. Your IQ’s too high for you to survive the experience without a massive migraine.» He raised his voice again, «I am _not_ fl— I’m insulting _you!_ Mind your own business!»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was about to say something in return when Prowl started yelling at a Constructicon again. Fl - ? Primus, he totally was about to say _flirting_. If mechs could have butterflies in their stomach, Tarantulas would absolutely would right now. If a Constructicon with intimate knowledge of Prowl’s mind thought he was _flirting_ …
> 
> He covered up the agitation in his processor by chittering laughter. «If you can put up with them for days on end, I’m sure I’ll be alright for just a little while.»

Prowl

> There are 1555 words in Neocybex that begin with fl-, don’t get ahead of yourself. Prowl might have been saying flagellating. Or flummoxed. Or—or fluffy. You never know.
> 
> «I put up with them out of _necessity_. Spare yourself.»

Tarantulas

> Nope. It was totally “flirting.” Context clues, Prowl. That narrows the pile down to 34 possible words, and flirting is the choice Tarantulas likes the most.
> 
> «Aww, _poor_ Prowl. I appreciate the sentiment, but it’d be rude to show up and not even say hello, no?»

Prowl

> Reality isn’t just the thing you most want it to be. Besides, Prowl _wasn’t_ flirting ~~on purpose~~.
> 
> «Your head, your migraine. Consider yourself warned.»

Tarantulas

> «I’m warned about them and they’re warned about me? Sounds like we’ll get along just fine.» Ominous words. «Alright – I’ll be in contact with Rodimus shortly.»

Prowl

> Everyone Prowl was close to had to be warned about everyone else Prowl was close to. That had to say something about his miserable excuse for a social life. He already missed how uncomplicated sitting on a couch with Ratchet and Pipes had been.
> 
> «Fine. Let me know when you’re prepared to drop off the generator.»

Tarantulas

> Well excuse Tarantulas for making things ~complicated~ for Prowl.
> 
> He gave an oddly cheery affirmation ping and another one goodbye before he remembered that he’d probably be meeting with Rodimus at Maccadam’s - eugh, public spaces. Oh well, he’d live.

Prowl

> He’s excused. He didn’t do it alone.
> 
> A return ping. That’s that, then. Now he just has to wait to hear from either Rodimus or Tarantulas.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas makes a mistake that he'll be paying the consequences for for quite some time. (In other words, business as usual.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spawned from a randomized starter rp meme!

Tarantulas

> “…How about you walk away and pretend you saw nothing.”

Prowl

> Prowl’s rubbing his temples. Why. Why this. It’s the middle of the night.
> 
> “How about you tell me how often you visit my room while I’m asleep.”
> 
> The Constructicons are unsubtly watching from over the back of a couch. Huh. So _that’s_ the spider freak.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was acutely aware of the Constructicons’ optics on him. He was absolutely not prepared for this to happen - he’d gotten away with sneaking around so many other times in different situations, but for some reason the fates hadn’t aligned in his favor this time.
> 
> “You make it sound so _creepy_ when you put it that way. It wasn’t just your room I - …wait, that - that makes it worse, doesn’t it.” Awkward pede shuffling.

Prowl

> “That’s because it _is_ creepy. You are, literally, creeping.”
> 
> “Freak,” one of the Constructicons said. Prowl impatiently waved him off.
> 
> “Yes, that does make it worse. My question still stands. How often do you sneak in while we’re sleeping?”
> 
> “Want us to pound the answer out of him?” “Yeah!” Prowl waved them off more insistently.

Tarantulas

> Maybe that meant Prowl wasn’t conscious of the slang connotations of “creeping”? Creeping around somewhere didn’t literally mean being stalkerish. Blurry lines and all that.
> 
> Tarantulas gave an imperceptible wince when the word “freak” was tossed into play, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.
> 
> “Not - not often. I promise. It’s just that I’m still rooting out surveillance and mapping the apartment out and I didn’t want to disturb you, surely you understand.”

Prowl

> Look, they come from the same word, Prowl can play with that shared root to highlight how creepy Tarantulas is being.
> 
> Prowl scowled. Hard to argue with that, he _had_ asked Tarantulas to search for surveillance.
> 
> “That doesn’t excuse sneaking around while we sleep to do it.” Prowl crossed his arms. “Well? What have you found on the security system?”

Tarantulas

> A mental sigh of relief - it was nice to have an excuse that passed the test, even a weak one. Anything Tarantulas could use to help build a less creepy reputation.
> 
> He pinged Prowl a file containing his present map of the apartment plus surveillance systems. “A - a couple more cameras to cover the missing swathes, but nothing else new. Starscream’s quite thorough, but not necessarily innovative.”

Prowl

> “And you couldn’t have figured that out during the day?” he asked dryly.
> 
> Still, progress was progress. “Any blind spots or deaf spots?” The area with the berths was still conspicuously low on cameras.

Tarantulas

> “I don’t have _all_  the time in the world. My schedule’s irregular enough as it is, this was just a time that fit well, and I didn’t want to disturb you all.” A side glance at the Constructicons. Their presence alone was half the reason Tarantulas had snuck in during the night instead of day.
> 
> A shake of his helm. “Aside from the marked areas, no, and even then they’re not wholly sensorily exempt, I think. That’s what I was working on just now, actually.”

Prowl

> “We would all rather be disturbed than watched in our sleep.”
> 
> “ _Yeah!_ ” Various assenting noises from the Constructicons.
> 
> All right, they’d made their point. On to more important things. If Starscream’s goons were putting any effort into their job, they’d realize something was up. Tarantulas might have attention deflectors, but that only meant that anybody watching the security feeds would think that Prowl and the Constructicons had been spontaneously woken up by nothing and were now staring at and talking to an empty patch of air, and _that_ was worth investigating.
> 
> But it was the middle of the night and the probability was high that whoever was currently in charge of the security cameras didn’t care about actually watching them. As long as they didn’t keep this up, nobody would raise the alarm.
> 
> He turned back to the Constructicons. “All right. The issue’s been resolved. Go back to sleep.”
> 
> “Don’t wanna sleep.” “Yeah, we’re awake now.” “And _he’s_ here.”
> 
> “Fine, then _don’t_ sleep! Just stop huddling up like that. We’re going to draw attention.”
> 
> They grumbled, but one by one turned away or slid down out of view. A moment later, they turned the TV on.
> 
> Prowl turned back to Tarantulas. “Proceed with what you were doing. I’ll supervise.”

Tarantulas

> It was incredibly strange to be referred to in the third person while standing right there, but at least no one was yelling at him or anything. Better to be argued about than argued with.
> 
> _Supervise_. Alright then. Tarantulas would have to make up something to do. “I, well - I was on my way up to the next level to check the last marked area.” Gesturing up at the mezzanine, Tarantulas edged out of the way of the stairs for Prowl’s benefit and proceeded to casually throw thread up to the ceiling, swinging himself up that way instead.
> 
> When his pedes touched the floor again, Tarantulas had a fuzzy sort of flashback - just like ages ago, Mesothulas waiting on Prowl in order to show him the next project, the next experiment, always overeager and twelve steps ahead of him thanks to quick pedes and grappling hooks.

Prowl

> Prowl nodded wordlessly. Proposal approved.
> 
> Commentary from the couch, as Tarantulas swung himself up to the mezzanine: “Weird.” “Show-off.” (“Hey Hook, think you could do that?” “Naw.”) Prowl shot them all a dark look, and then followed Tarantulas up the stairs.
> 
> At this point, he was issuing no further commentary or instructions. He leaned against the railing at the top of the stairs, and waited silently for Tarantulas to take the lead.
> 
> There was, truth be told, no need for him to be here. He didn’t have to watch while Tarantulas searched for cameras and microphones. Tarantulas could just as easily do that himself and report his findings to Prowl before he left. But here, impractically, Prowl was anyway.
> 
> He wouldn’t comment on how unneeded he was if Tarantulas didn’t.

Tarantulas

> Pulling up the map in his mind, Tarantulas pinned down a spot, then glanced at Prowl. It didn’t seem like he had anything particular in mind other than literally supervising, so it was all up to Tarantulas where they went next. Off toward a room-ish area on the left, then, the spider’s pedes touching down soundlessly as they went.
> 
> A small, screened piece of equipment was pulled out of subspace. “I’m going to run a scan first, so if you could wait outside?” Implying that tech signals were involved, of course.
> 
> It gave him a moment to survey the room itself, one of the few in which he hadn’t yet snuck around in. The Constructicons’ berthroom, judging by the five berths in it, but they looked unused - replaced by the downstairs couches and floor, most likely. Nothing special, all in all.
> 
> Tarantulas ran the scan and predictably came up with no new cameras or mics as of yet. Waving Prowl back in, he pocketed the scanner and started wandering along the inside perimeter. There wasn’t really anything for him to do that he hadn’t done already, so what in the world _should_  he do? Pretend to do it all again?
> 
> It seemed rather pointless. Work like that would be dull, and no doubt the silence would grate on him within minutes. Might as well at least try to start up a conversation.
> 
> “That brace doesn’t look particularly comfortable.” A sympathetic glance in Prowl’s direction. “What sort of restrictions do you have at the moment? And how did the surgery go, anyhow?”

Prowl

> Prowl nodded. He stood where he could peer around the wall to watch Tarantulas, but not close enough to disrupt the scan.
> 
> When Tarantulas invited him in, he perched on the end of the nearest berth. “It limits my flexibility, but it’s not uncomfortable,” he said. “No lifting anything heavy,” which was why his desk was upside-down on the ground floor (please don’t ask why his desk is upside-down on the ground floor), “no combat, no transforming, no trying to rotate my spinal strut. Except for the last, none of these are things I would have cause to be doing right now anyway. The surgery went well.”
> 
> And they were all set up for the far more delicate follow-up surgery, which Prowl absolutely wasn’t going to tell Tarantulas about.
> 
> “I should only need to be in the brace for another couple of days.”

Tarantulas

> “Anything that limits mobility is irritating in my opinion, but I’d deem it more than necessary in this case.” No way in Pits was Tarantulas letting Prowl run around without some sort of support after a less-than-trustworthy operation.
> 
> Still attempting to look like he was doing work, Tarantulas pulled another piece of equipment out of subspace at random. A Geiger counter, alright. Hopefully Prowl wouldn’t notice and call him out on using something completely inappropriate for the situation.
> 
> Also, Tarantulas had been distracted before he managed to question the table on the ground floor, believe it or not. You’re in the clear for now, Prowl.
> 
> “Days? Hmm. You’re not in any pain, are you?”
> 
> Ooh, did he have his remote frame scanner on him right now? Tarantulas would have to check - then he could get a rough look at what Hook had done with Prowl’s spinal strut.

Prowl

> A shrug. (Shrugs weren’t off limits.) “I’ve yet to be struck by the urge to do anything that would require more mobility than I currently have.”
> 
> What was the Geiger counter for? Was the surveillance system mildly radioactive? He supposed it was possible; it wasn’t strong enough for him to detect, but that didn’t mean much. Maybe Starscream had installed some sort of system that involved x-ray scanning? He’d ask Tarantulas for the details when he was done.
> 
> “No, I’m not. The brace is just to make sure that everything sets properly.”

Tarantulas

> “Hyeh, well, that’s certainly one facet in which we differ.” Says acrobatic Tarantulas who never sits still.
> 
> He didn’t spend long pretending to use the Geiger counter, instead sifting through his subspace for the frame scanner. It was a jury-rigged medical device that no longer required hardline connection, which admittedly diminished its capabilities, but it was more than sufficient for moments like these.
> 
> Aha, score! He’d managed to link to another subspace to get at the scanner. Hopefully Prowl wouldn’t ask questions about _this_  one - although with its piecemeal appearance it was almost inevitable. Small beep, a wide slow unsuspicious sweep across the room, and once it got to Prowl, the scan commenced.
> 
> “Good - that’s good. I’d have a few suggestions if it were otherwise, but…” A defeated chitter, implying he knew Prowl wouldn’t have taken any of the suggestions anyway. “…You know, if you’d have allowed me to operate you wouldn’t even  _have_  the brace, but that’s a moot point now I suppose.”

Prowl

> A snort. “Some mechs can do all their thinking from a chair,” he said. “I notice your new alt mode lets you walk on the ceiling, too. To date, you are still the only person I’ve ever seen pace in a circle by walking in a straight line.” Once Mesothulas had been wandering up and down the walls as he exposited on some new creation, and had stopped abruptly when he noticed Prowl was biting his lip hard enough to dent it. Prowl had been trying not to laugh.
> 
> “If _Ratchet himself_  had done the surgery, there would have been a brace. If your techniques are more advanced than Ratchet’s, then they’re too experimental for me.” He nodded at the new scanner. “What’s that?”

Tarantulas

> For a moment Tarantulas wasn’t sure whether to be proud or uncomfortable - it sounded a little like the lines between he and the native Mesothulas were blurring. Prowl had never seen _him_  walk a straight circle before, even though he certainly had. Tarantulas shrugged off the weird feeling - wasn’t that what he wanted, to take Mesothulas’ place?
> 
> “Yes, of course. Once you get the hang of defying gravity it’s a little hard to give up the feeling. It fits my new alt appropriately as well, although the mechanics are different.” Then more chittering. “I don’t know why everyone looks up to Ratchet as some sort of deity. If he’s not at least as progressive as I am, he’s doing something wrong.”
> 
> Another beep - scan done. Tarantulas would have to look at the info in detail later though, since right now he was preoccupied with trying to come up with a decent answer to Prowl’s question.
> 
> He took a moment to flail around mentally, pretending he hadn’t heard him. “What - oh. Yes. It’s a, err, large-scale particle density scanner. Gases only at the moment, I’m still working out the fine-tuning before I allow liquid or solid state testing.”
> 
> Shoot. Now he’d have to actually make one in real life. Oh well, another project for his shrinking spare time.

Prowl

> He’d meant “you” as in the collective you, “a version of you"—a conversational shorthand that, under the circumstances, seemed logical to him. If the experience wasn’t shared across universes, he expected Tarantulas would correct him.
> 
> “Ratchet is _reliable._ Whereas your idea of proper medical experimentation is brewing up new substances and testing them on yourself.” Yes, Tarantulas had a far too high probability of trying out dangerous substances that should be best left alone.
> 
> A skeptical look. “And scanning particle density is important to searching for surveillance equipment?” He slid off the berth and walked up to Tarantulas, trying to get a better look at the scanner. “Show me.”

Tarantulas

> A scoff. “That’s chemistry, not medical experimentation. My frame itself is more appropriate evidence of the latter, and if you say I did a shoddy job, you’re most certainly lying.”
> 
> Oh no, please don’t come over, Prowl. Tarantulas angled himself such that Prowl couldn’t see the screen, which clearly had vitals and a rough x-ray like outline of Prowl’s frame. If Prowl somehow got close enough, Tarantulas would pull the scanner to his fuzzy chest - totally not suspicious at all.
> 
> “Of course it is. If the equipment is somehow veiled, the scanner would show a mimic of the density of the air around it but come up with nothing for the solid camera or mic, since I haven’t worked with the right frequencies for that yet. It’s like finding virtual shadows.”

Prowl

> “It crossed the line into medical experimentation when you used it to modify your physical state. And I don’t know how many times you nearly killed yourself before getting your body right.”
> 
> Prowl is trying to see the screen, so he absolutely is going to get close enough that Tarantulas will pull it to his chest. And yes, in fact, that _is_ a bit suspicious. Prowl frowned. “Clever workaround. May I see how it works?” He held out a hand.

Tarantulas

> “Medical is… it’s treatment of injury or use of surgery or something of the like. Not getting _drunk_.” Yep, there he goes, screen now pulled in and obscured by setae. “And I’d be offended if it weren’t slightly true - but I _didn’t_ die, did I? I did a rather fantastic job, if I may say so myself.”
> 
> Alright, time to casually ping himself Prowl’s data and wipe the information from the scanner itself with a few discreet taps. Primus, but what to do next? …What if he just dropped it? That’d work, but then he’d have to fix the device later, ugh. But what if…
> 
> “It’s - the data isn’t interpretable - not, not without a console as of now.” Tarantulas was distracted by doing some virtual buttonsmashing which he pinged back to the device, and now the screen was a jumble of numbers and glyphs interspersed with random coding. Whew. He could show that to Prowl safely enough, right?

Prowl

> “Fine. Then what would you call introducing a substance to your body in order to test out how your body reacts to said substance, if it’s not _medical_ experimentation?” Surely he couldn’t deny that it was experimentation. “Slightly true. You slightly almost killed yourself.” He let out a sigh that didn’t sound quite as exasperated as he thought it ought to.
> 
> Those taps aren’t quite that discreet when they’re done in front of somebody who’s determinedly trying to look at the screen. Prowl’s fingers twitched, then curled in on his palm, and he let his arm drop.
> 
> “… What did you really do?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas paused, then - “Physiological experimentation.” And yes, Prowl, he _could_ deny it was experimentation, if he could actually recall the conversation in which he claimed the high grade testing wasn’t Science with a capital S. Additionally, he ignored the whole “slightly almost died” business. Prowl should be used to that by now.
> 
> Besides, the scanner situation took precedence. Tensing up, Tarantulas tried to decide if it was worth it or not to continue the lie. Prowl _had_  said he’d only gain his trust by continuing to tell the truth/not lying to him, right? But how would that balance out with Prowl getting angry with him scanning without consent?
> 
> “…I - I pressed some buttons.” There you go, literal Tarantulas. Way to probably make Prowl even more frustrated.
> 
> Backpedaling immediately, he ducked his head into his shoulders a bit. “I, err. Scanned. Things. It’s not a particle density scanner, I lied - I’m - I’m sorry.” Neglecting to say exactly what he’d done, great job.

Prowl

> A squint. Prowl was pretty sure Tarantulas was only going with “physiological experiment” so he didn’t have to agree with Prowl. But he supposed it was an adequate enough answer, so he decided to drop it.
> 
> Yes, he _was_ used to it. Both Tarantulas’s recklessness and his determination to downplay it as much as possible. Which was why he hadn’t managed to sound nearly as exasperated as he’d intended. The exasperation was doing battle with amusement, resignation, and… well, never mind that.
> 
> Whatever the never-mind-that was, it certainly wasn’t present in Prowl’s expression now. His frown deepened into a scowl. “And are you going to tell me _what_ you actually scanned?” He raised a hand to cut off Tarantulas before he could even start to reply, “Wait—don’t answer if you’re just going to lie again. I am _sick_ to my _core_ of being lied to. Don’t tell me anything if you can’t tell me the truth.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ spark sunk as Prowl’s scowl grew. Yep, he was in trouble any which way he looked at it.
> 
> “I wouldn’t lie _twice_ , that’s beyond tempting fate - and, well. Obvious reasons.” Accessory legs twitching behind him, Tarantulas loosened slightly and lowered the scanner from his chest. “It’s… hyeh. A medical scanner. I was concerned about the surgery and thought it’d be highly unlikely you’d consent to a scan, so I simply…” A twitch of a shrug.

Prowl

> “You’d be surprised how rarely that stops people. It wouldn’t even be the first time this  _week_.”
> 
> An angry sigh. “So you just  _took_  my medical scans  _without_  my consent, because  _my word_  isn’t good enough for you. Or, more likely, you’d have scanned me without my consent no matter  _what_  I did, and my surgery is just the convenient excuse you wanted to justify it.” He held out his hand again. “Hand it over and tell me how to delete the data.”

Tarantulas

> “No, I already _have_  medical data on you, the data you gave me; the surgery isn’t an _excuse_.” Mostly true, although there were holes in the data that Tarantulas wouldn’t have minded filling.
> 
> There was a moment’s hesitation before Tarantulas showed Prowl the scanner properly, making sure to be deliberate about deleting the gibberish data. “I, err. Already deleted the scan results. You can verify - here, one second.” He navigated through the menus to show him, then gingerly handed over the device, guessing that Prowl would want to poke around to be sure.
> 
> Some more reluctance, then he added: “…I did send it to myself though.” A ping to Prowl with the medical files in it, still unpacked.

Prowl

> “No? And the fact that the medical data you have doesn’t contain my latest overhauls didn’t factor at all into you decision to scan me without my consent?”
> 
> Prowl took the scanner, looking at the open menu; and then started flipping through the other menus, checking to see if the data might be hidden somewhere else.
> 
> A surprised glance at Tarantulas. Prowl hadn’t doubted for a second that he’d send the data to himself; he hadn’t expected that he’d _admit_ it. “So delete it.”

Tarantulas

> Nope. Not at all, Prowl. Some slight grumbling belied the true answer as Tarantulas watched Prowl navigate the menus.
> 
> If he’d known what Prowl was surprised about, he’d have been a strange mixture of defensive and amused. Admitting the sleight of hand wasn’t the first thing he’d normally have done, but seeing as his current objective was getting into Prowl’s better graces…
> 
> “…Do you trust me enough to believe I’ll have deleted it for good after telling you I did? Because I will, of course, I just wouldn’t blame you for thinking I hadn’t.”
> 
> An embedded lie. Tarantulas _wasn’t_  going to delete the data at _all_ , of course.

Prowl

> “No,” Prowl said flatly. “I don’t. Not at all. But you’re definitely not going to delete it if I _don’t_  ask you to, so at the very least I can improve my odds.” And later he’d have to speak with Soundwave about confirming that the file was gone.
> 
> As far as Prowl could tell, the scans were indeed deleted; but maybe there was a cache hidden that the menus couldn’t access. “Is there any way to jack into this thing?”

Tarantulas

> Would pouting make him seem more hurt and trustworthy? Tarantulas hoped so. “Well, the odds are in your favor because I just -” He paused for dramatic effect. “- deleted the files.”
> 
> In actuality, he’d just transferred them into the proper folder deeper in his processor. Way to go, Tarantulas. Hopefully that’ll save you from Soundwave’s prying mental feelers.
> 
> Errrr. Tarantulas thought for a moment. “If you’re really _that_  intent on checking, I suppose I could reverse one of the output cables in a few kliks or so.” The little whine in his vocals told Prowl that Tarantulas would really rather not, though.

Prowl

> Liars can pout too.
> 
> Yes, Tarantulas said he’d deleted them. Which was exactly what Tarantulas would say if he’d kept them, too. Prowl wasn’t going to point that out, but he wasn’t going to trust it either.
> 
> “Yes, I _am_  that intent on checking.” Prowl held out the device. Whine away, Tarantulas, it’s your fault you’re in this position.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ shoulders slumped as he took the medical scanner back from Prowl. “All of this for a hypothetical set of rudimentary frame scans.” Grumble mumble.
> 
> A minute or so later Tarantulas put a few tools back into subspace and clicked something on the device before handing it over to Prowl. “There.” Both an indication that he was done and a direction as to where the correct cabling was. “It should be simple enough to manipulate, it’s just rough coding when it comes down to it.”
> 
> In addition to all the fuss this was causing, Prowl jacking into the scanner would mean he would know all its functions - or at least know the names of the specs and measures - which was another point of unease for Tarantulas. He wasn’t about to deny Prowl anything he couldn’t reasonably get away with, though, so off into Prowl’s hands the scanner went.

Prowl

> “Good.” Prowl took the scanner, turned, and walked out of the room with it. “Hook!”
> 
> “Huh?”
> 
> “Catch.”
> 
> “Catch what?”
> 
> “This.” Prowl held the scanner up, waited until Hook was actually looking, and then threw it. Hook nearly fumbled it, but it ended up securely in his hands.
> 
> “What’s this?”
> 
> “A medical scanner which Tarantulas just used on me without asking first.” (The Constructicons collectively bristled.) “Plug in, search it for any signs that it still contains my scans, and remove and delete them if they’re present.”
> 
> “Got it.”
> 
> Prowl certainly wasn’t going to plug into it _himself_. The thing had already scanned him once. As far as he knew it could do it again through a cable.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was a little confused when Prowl walked out of the room, but he positively had a fit when Prowl called for Hook to “catch.” Scrambling out after Prowl, the spider could only watch as the scanner was flung off the balcony and into Hook’s hands.
> 
> “ _Prowl_ \- ! You don’t just - you have no idea _how delicate_ \- the _calibrations_ -”
> 
> Acting on instinct, Tarantulas threw silk and slung himself down off the balcony, sweeping past Hook and deftly snatching the scanner from him. He set down a good distance away, clutching the device protectively.
> 
> “It might only be a medical scanner, but I’ve spent _hours_ , and  _bytes,_ and _parts_ , and as a prototype it’s the first of its kind and I _can’t_ afford to have it damaged!”

Prowl

> Hook’s helm jerked around to stare at Tarantulas. “Hey!” Two of the Constructicons got on their feet, fists raised. “Whatcher problem?! You’re lucky Prowl didn’t order me to _smash_ it, after you—”
> 
> “ _Hook._ ” Hook fell silent at Prowl’s sharp look; and Prowl shifted his gaze to Tarantulas. “Hand over the scanner. Hook isn’t going to damage it. You trusted _me_ with it, and his servos are better articulated than mine.”

Tarantulas

> The Constructicons’ posturing wasn’t lost on Tarantulas, who crouched a little and flared out his spider legs. Stupid idea, the very thought of fighting them over a scanner, but Tarantulas had never been one for rationality.
> 
> “It isn’t a matter of whose servos are more articulated, it’s about the bot those servos are attached to, or more importantly, the fact that one bot _threw_ the scanner to the other in the first place! Why should I trust _any_  of you with any of my things? That was blatantly careless and disrespectful on _your_  part, Prowl, and none of _you_ -” He squinted around at the Constructicons in the area. “- have yet proven yourselves competent enough to handle my equipment. Although I’d rather the scanner in Constructicon hands than in _his_ , after this.” A glare back up at Prowl.

Prowl

> “Why should I trust _you_ with your things, if you’re going to _use them on me_ without my consent?” Prowl snapped. “You’ll excuse me if I’m not terribly sympathetic at the moment. Hand over the scanner so we can get this over with.”

Tarantulas

> “My actions were well-intentioned! Not to mention passive. Throwing the scanner was active and potentially harmful and served no purpose that couldn’t have been fulfilled by simply walking it down the stairs. But this is - this is _ridiculous_.” A ruffle of Tarantulas’ fur and plating, before he smoothed everything back out again.
> 
> After a moment and muttered phrase, he seemed slightly calmer. Squinting at Hook, he addressed him. “…If you so much as _scratch_ this…” A pause, and then he stepped in just close enough to hand the scanner over.

Prowl

> “You did not _passively_ scan me, you did it actively and deliberately. My actions served the purpose of saving time.” And didn’t give Tarantulas an opportunity to question why Prowl had to go downstairs to plug it into himself.
> 
> Hook grumbled in annoyance. “You think I got this far by bein’ _sloppy?_ I could solder a straight line in an earthquake.” He reached out and tentatively lifted the scanner by two fingers, trying to keep his hand as far away from the fuzzy noodles at the end of Tarantulas’s arms as possible. He turned it over, examining it, then quickly tapped through the menus, and finally plugged it in.

Tarantulas

> “The action _itself_  -” Tarantulas began, before he sullenly realized that arguing any longer would serve no point. Their respective actions were done, and the scanner was in Hook’s hands now. All Tarantulas could do was wait and brux his mandibles in irritation.
> 
> Briefly it crossed his mind - the way Hook looked at his organic components - he could potentially use that against him, and probably the rest of the Constructicons as well. Simply something to remember for later, in case he wanted to disgust or frighten them.
> 
> As it was, though, the current situation would hopefully resolve itself without incident. There was nothing for Hook to find on the device, nothing obvious to bicker about further (although doubtless they’d find something).

Prowl

> What about the action itself? But if Tarantulas was dropping it, then so was Prowl. He waited silently as Hook conducted the search.
> 
> Finally, Hook said, “Nothin’ in here that looks like you, boss.” He unplugged the device. “But it’s got some kinda transmitter thingy. He could’ve transferred—”
> 
> “Yes, I know,” Prowl said. “That’s adequate. Give it back.”
> 
> Hook held it out to Tarantulas, once again pinching it disdainfully between two fingers.
> 
> “I’d just smash it,” Bonecrusher grumbled. “Don’t give him another chance to use it.”
> 
> “He’d make another.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor narrowed at Hook, at the way he was precariously holding the scanner, but he didn’t say anything about it. Words had somewhat shut down for the moment unless they were explicitly called for.
> 
> Once the scanner was back in his claws, it was immediately subspaced again before anything could happen to it. Bonecrusher got a withering look.
> 
> Tarantulas shifted his focus back to Prowl. “Are you _satisfied_ now? The scans are gone. And -” A strange shape in the corner of his optic suddenly caught his attention. “…What happened to your desk?”

Prowl

> The moment Tarantulas had the scanner, Hook backed up, shaking his hand like he’d got something gross on it.
> 
> “After you betrayed my trust? No, not particularly. But this is as close as we’re going to get.”
> 
> Prowl glanced down through the shattered gap in the mezzanine railing to the desk on the ground underneath it. “… It fell.”

Tarantulas

> Even half a klik’s worth of analyzing the scene was enough to indicate otherwise, naturally. Tarantulas scoffed. “Yes. Of course. And I _accidentally_ pulled the wrong device out of my subspace and just _bumped_  into the screen just so. Nevermind.”
> 
> Tarantulas hovered for a while, restless. Should he just leave now?

Prowl

> “Well it certainly didn’t climb down the stairs,” Prowl muttered, glowering more darkly at the desk—avoiding looking anywhere near Tarantulas.
> 
> “We did it,” Scavenger said abruptly. The other Constructicons stared at him; and then the others quickly joined in: “Yeah, we were foolin’ around.” “Long Haul tried to tackle me but got the desk.” “I—yeah. S'what I did.”
> 
> They looked up at Prowl for approval, vents still. He stared back at them; but he didn’t contradict the story.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s lack of optic contact was noted - but forgotten in the wake of the Constructicons’ owning up to the mess. Too hasty to be believable, but sufficient to distract Tarantulas and transfer possible blame away from Prowl.
> 
> “I hope you all realize you’re only exacerbating my reluctance to allow you physical access to any of my lab equipment.” An unreadable chitter. “…Is there anything else to address before I take my leave?”

Prowl

> “Fine, we don’t wanna see your dumb lab equipment,” Long Haul said. (Mixmaster gave him a shocked look.) “… _Most_  of us don’t wanna see your dumb lab equipment.”
> 
> “One thing,” Prowl said. “Never do that again. Never do anything _like_  that again. And for the sake of both your and my sanity, don’t do things to me, for me, or around me that you know damn well I wouldn’t approve of and tell yourself that it’s fine because I didn’t explicitly forbid it.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a quiet “hyeh” at Mixmaster’s response. It was nice to be reminded that at least one of the Constructicons had some interest in and/or respect for science.
> 
> Something in him twisted, though, when Prowl gave his terse reply. Normally Prowl’s covering-all-the-bases mentality would be something Tarantulas admired, but not when it was working against him like this. 
> 
> “Very well then. You might as well go ahead and make a whole list of things I’m _allowed_ or _forbidden_ to do from now on. Easier for me to keep track of.” …He was only half joking.

Prowl

> “If I were to attempt to categorize every single action you could ever conceivably take based on whether or not I want you to take it, it would take until long past the heat death of the universe to finish listing them all, and that’s not even starting on all the caveats and exceptions that will by necessity accompany each item. By necessity, any list I could possibly give you would consist of broad, general guidelines. Like the one you just received, which I _shouldn’t have had to make._ ‘Don’t do things to me without my consent’ is the implicit, minimal, bare-bones foundation of any interpersonal relationship that hopes to have mutual respect.”
> 
> Be that as it may, Prowl _was_ making a list. But it was only going to be relevant if Tarantulas passed all his tests. No need to bring it up yet.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas rolled his shoulders slightly before starting to move around, closing a little of the diagonal distance between him and Prowl. “We’re different beings, we have different standards of admissibility, etcetera, etcetera. I was mostly attempting to _cater_ toward your love of rules and my lack thereof.”
> 
> A scoff. “I was taking scans _for your benefit_.” And for his own, but nevermind that. “It would have been wasting your time and too much of an ordeal to try to convince you into it, so I simply went ahead. My sincerest apologies.”

Prowl

> “And I have little doubt that you would interpret any negligence on my part to include a specific restriction as tacit permission to do it. Even if you knew damn well that I wouldn’t want you to.”
> 
> Tarantulas’s scoff just made Prowl’s expression darken. “ _Nothing_  to, for, or around me without my consent. If it is an ‘ordeal’ for you to obtain my consent, then that means _you do not have it_  and _you cannot do_ whatever it is you’re trying to do to me. Period.”

Tarantulas

> True, Prowl, but that didn’t mean Tarantulas would admit that he’d use those loopholes to his advantage. Better not to call attention to it.
> 
> The same thing went with consent issues as well. Tarantulas wasn’t one to blatantly contradict someone’s wishes, wants, or permissions, but if he could rationalize slipping around them somehow…
> 
> A moment of tense silence before he replied. “…Understood. You do realize this will result in an increase in useless arguments, though.”

Prowl

> And what were the odds that Tarantulas was actually going to change his behavior? Instead of just hiding any misbehavior more thoroughly?
> 
> “We won’t have any useless arguments if you just _accept_ when I say ‘no.’ You’re not entitled to a positive answer from me on any topic concerning my own self, and a ‘yes’ is not something to be earned by badgering me until you wear me down. That isn’t consent, that is coercion.”
> 
> This was all beyond basic. Prowl had to ask himself if Tarantulas didn’t understand, or if he just didn’t care. He was afraid it was the latter.
> 
> But not all common sense was common. At one point, at a few millennia old, Prowl had to be explicitly told that he couldn’t take a desk toy off someone else’s desk and claim it for himself, and why he couldn’t, even if he used it more than its current owner. Tarantulas was far older than that, but he’s also put far less effort than Prowl into fitting in with society. Maybe Tarantulas had never had someone to say “You can’t take someone else’s toys without asking.” Prowl could hope, at least.
> 
> But he wasn’t optimistic.

Tarantulas

> “It’s - it wouldn’t be _badgering_ , I’d be discussing the reasons why my actions would be _beneficial_  instead of whatever you fallaciously might perceive them to be otherwise.” Hence, why he called the arguments useless, because most often he and Prowl couldn’t come to see things eye to eye. Case in point: the Noisemaze.
> 
> Tarantulas had a rather confused concept of what constituted consent, to say the least. Whether it came down to lack of social common sense or deliberate disregard for basic decency was up in the air.
> 
> But in this case, he attempted to make concessions. “I’ll… not take any more scans without your explicit permission. I’ll admit I did know that was… selfishly and inconsiderately done, and I shouldn’t have acted in such a manner.” An uncomfortable inclination of his helm, hiding himself in his fluffy shoulders. Admitting he’d done something wrong was distasteful, but he _knew_ he was wrong, and he’d have to fess up to it sooner or later.
> 
> Whether or not he’d keep the promise… they’d see. The odds? About 50/50. Good luck, Prowl.

Prowl

> “I understand the benefits. They do not outweigh my desire for you to not have full access to my updated blueprints.” The probability of a situation where Tarantulas could use the scans _against_ him was far higher than the probability that he’d use the scans _for_ him.
> 
> So he _had_ known it was wrong. That was disappointing. Ignorance was easier to cure than a deliberate disregard for another’s wishes.
> 
> If Tarantulas rated his odds of keeping the promise at 50/50, then he was more optimistic than Prowl was. Prowl was confident he hadn’t even deleted the scans he already had.
> 
> “Then I have nothing else to add.”

Tarantulas

> Thankfully Tarantulas had the good sense not to grumble out loud at Prowl’s outright denial of handing over new blueprints. He’d been hoping that by somehow trying to sort this whole mess out, he’d earn enough points in Prowl’s book to be granted access to them voluntarily, but his hopes were dashed.
> 
> Notably, the fact that Tarantulas was keeping the scans didn’t determine whether or not he’d repeat the action of taking them in the future. What was done was done, no sense wasting the results.
> 
> “Very well, then.” A small ruffle of his plating, mostly uncomfortable if anything. “If - or whenever - in any case, let me know about returning to continue ferreting out surveillance, or doing something about it.”

Prowl

> “Send me the data you’ve obtained so far. We’ll continue searching for further surveillance equipment ourselves,” Prowl said. “Consider yourself unwelcome here without an explicit invitation for the foreseeable future.”

Tarantulas

> “You’ve already obtained it,” Tarantulas replied, his tone prickly. Hadn’t he pinged it to Prowl earlier? Just in case, he sent it again.
> 
> Otherwise he said nothing else. Hesitating briefly, he had to remind himself that most mechs entered and left out the front door instead of porting in and out of the vents. One step in the proper direction, one lingering glance at Prowl, and then Tarantulas was off - sizing down, transforming, and crawling through the crack under the door.

Prowl

> “You scanned another room since you sent that data,” Prowl pointed out. “So if you have no new data, then what was the true point of the ‘scan’ that you made me stand outside the room for—planting bugs in the room? What did the thing that looked like a Geiger counter do, read my mind? Precisely _how_ many ways have you invaded my privacy tonight, Tarantulas?”

Tarantulas

> Before Tarantulas had quite left, he huffed slightly, not turning around back toward Prowl. “They were fillers. Props. Neither of them did anything productive. I just - there wasn’t anything else for me to _find_  in that room, and I didn’t want - I couldn’t think of -”
> 
> Was there any way to say “I was just creeping and I wanted an excuse to stick around longer” without sounding completely awful?

Prowl

> Prowl could guess. “… Do you think I followed you upstairs because I actually thought you needed supervision to scan for cameras?” Tarantulas could have stayed.
> 
> “I trust you won’t be surprised if I can’t believe now that the scans did nothing.”

Tarantulas

> Slightly steaming spider. If only he’d known ahead of time that he could have _asked_  and stayed. He’d keep that in mind for next time, once Prowl had forgiven him for all this. (Because he _would_.)
> 
> “I’m not surprised, but I’m…” A heavy exvent. “They _didn’t_. …The radiation levels in that room are minutely above average, by the way.”

Prowl

> “I’m storin’ stuff in there,” Mixmaster muttered.
> 
> Prowl gave Mixmaster an exasperated look. “What could you _possibly_  be storing in there that’s—?” No. Don’t get distracted. Deal with that later. Fine, so the Geiger counter was a Geiger counter, but it could easily have plenty of other tricks stuffed into it.
> 
> “You can leave.”

Tarantulas

> One last narrowed glance over his ridiculously large shoulder (which meant doing a quarter-turn backward anyway). Tarantulas looked like he was about to say something, before he decided better of it and turned back toward the exit.
> 
> _Then_ he was skittering off under the door like he’d intended to.

Prowl

> Prowl waited until he was sure Tarantulas was gone.
> 
> And then sank down to sit on the floor, legs hanging over the edge of the mezzanine, elbows on his knees.
> 
> The Constructicons watched him questioningly. “Go back to sleep without me,” Prowl said. “I don’t think I’ll be recharging for a while.”
> 
> He had some calls to make, some calculations to run, and some reactions to lock away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not Breakfast at Tiffany's, but it'll do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another rp meme.

> _Tarantulas’ reaction to Prowl asking him out for dinner – except it's breakfast instead of dinner, it's gonna be held in the washracks, the invitation's only good for the next two hours, and it's from the Constructicons._

Tarantulas

> What in the - ? What was Tarantulas supposed to think about this invitation? As of yet he hadn’t really interacted with the Constructicons in depth, so maybe that was something they were inviting him over for? But why?
> 
> It was usually a tossup as to whether Tarantulas would flee from a potentially dangerous situation or dive in head-first, and this time was no exception. After much hemming and hawing, he decided to accept the invitation at the very last minute and ported himself into the proper location (in root mode).

Constructicons

> Be very quiet, Tarantulas. Not everyone is in the washracks. A couple are probably in there, since they aren’t currently visible; but one’s out on the balcony, one’s in the kitchen—they didn’t know where Tarantulas was going to show up, they had to cover all their bases—and one is curled up asleep on the living room floor with Prowl. Hence the need to be quiet.
> 
> And if Tarantulas doesn’t figure that out himself, it’ll be obvious soon enough; when the one in the kitchen sees him, he waves exaggeratedly at him, and then makes a shush sign over his faceplate. He gestures at the washracks door. The Constructicon on the balcony comes in, summoned by a comm ping from his teammate.

Tarantulas

> The huge wave and shush weren’t quite necessary - Tarantulas was already headed in the direction of the washracks and keeping each step as quiet as a mouse. The Constructicon merely gave him the confirmation that he needed in order to know that Prowl definitely wasn’t in on this one.
> 
> Nodding enough for the Constructicon to see, Tarantulas crept into the washracks and surveyed the scene.

Constructicons

> Two Constructicons are waiting in the washracks—Mixmaster and Bonecrusher, if Tarantulas is keeping track. Hook and Long Haul come in behind Tarantulas and the door slides shut, leaving the Constructicons effectively boxing Tarantulas in.
> 
> Which, of course, would do little to contain a size-shifting spider, but let them have their moment. They’re trying to be intimidating as they size Tarantulas up, arms crossed and optics an identical malicious red.
> 
> “So. You’re Tarantulas, huh.”

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas is  _definitely_  keeping track. He has detailed information on each of them gathered from across three of his five universes and has no compunctions on using that data against them if they start pushing him around.
> 
> That said, it’s hard to deny he still feels a bit cowed when they start staring him down from all sides. Shoulders tense and back legs slightly twitching, he squints around at the lot of them.
> 
> “Yes, that’s my designation.” A nod in each Constructicon’s direction as he greets them by name - maybe that’ll get him points? “It’s - hyeh. A pleasure to finally meet you all properly.”

Constructicons

> “Yeah.” “ _Pleasure._ ” They’re collectively looking him up and down, critically; their gazes linger on his organic bits.
> 
> Finally, Bonecrusher muttered, “He don’t look half as cute as boss thinks he is.” Mixmaster murmured in agreement.
> 
> Hook shushed them both and stepped forward. “All right, fuzzy, here’s the deal. You wanna get close to Prowl, you gotta get close to  _us._  So we’re gonna get to know each other.” The other three nodded in agreement. “And we’re gonna have to do it fast, cuz you took two hours to show up and the boss could wake up any minute.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas could almost physically feel their pointed gazes raking across him. Errk. Well, whatever he had to withstand to earn their approval.
> 
> Oh Primus. Should he be offended or flattered by the comment? Even though the Constructicons didn’t think highly of his looks, it  _did_  imply Prowl thought he was at least moderately attractive. Tarantulas settled on squinting some more and outwardly ignoring the comment in order to save face.
> 
> _Whoa_ , OK - Tarantulas stepped back a bit as Hook moved forward, feeling even more caged. Suddenly it crossed his mind that he’d insulted Hook to Prowl - did those kinds of things carry over to the other combiner components? He dearly hoped not.
> 
> “My apologies,” Tarantulas chittered, his visor narrowing in a small frown. “You’re not the only mechs with things to do and plans to make. But I - get to know each other? How would we go about doing this, pray tell?  _Please_ tell me we’re not about to do some sort of ex-Con icebreaker, hyeh. I’d really not like to risk being maimed or the like.”

Constructicons

> See Hook’s face? That face says yeah, he knows what Tarantulas has been saying about him.
> 
> “What makes ya think we’re  _ex_ -Cons?” Long Haul asked. Five slightly patchwork Deceptibrands gleamed on their chests.
> 
> “Nah—we’re gonna  _talk_. That’s all. Just a nice, friendly little chat.”

Tarantulas

> A glance around the circle, and a small hum. Tarantulas wasn’t the most observant of mechs at times. “I - well, I figured it was at least complicated somewhat by the present state of affairs. My apologies for assuming that far, though -  _do_  you consider yourselves Decepticons still?”
> 
> Nothing about “nice, friendly little chat” sounded nice, friendly, or little at all, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about the situation. Maybe it might not go as awfully as Tarantulas was fearing, who knew.
> 
> “Where would we prefer to start, then…?” 

Constructicons

> “Obviously.” “What kinda stupid…” Grumble, mutter.
> 
> “Let’s start with you tellin’ us what your intentions with Prowl are,” Hook said. “How’s that sound? Sound like a fun topic?” The Constructicons all nodded. “ _We_  think it sounds fun.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas almost hyeh’d a little at the affronted response to his question, but he decided against it - mostly because he was distracted by the following proposition.  _Primus_. How to answer that one.
> 
> A pause before he spoke up: “…Should we, err. Take a seat somewhere first? Get comfortable?” The lamest stall tactic ever.

Constructicons

> They looked at each other as they silently discussed the question. “… Yeah.” “Sure, fine.” Then shuffled around to reveal a small table where they’d actually, as promised, set up breakfast.
> 
> Ain’t no party like a Constructicon tea party, because a Constructicon tea party don’t end until they’ve found out  _exactly_  what they want to know.
> 
> (Don’t get too excited. It’s just hot low grade.)

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had only half expected the Constructicons to actually agree to sitting down, what with how much they seemed to be enjoying posturing at him - which made it all the more charming that they’d actually set up a small tea party for breakfast. Tarantulas had absolutely no idea what to think.
> 
> After a klik he tentatively took the space with the most room for his spider legs to stretch behind him. A proper guest, he didn’t take any energon before it was offered. He’d brought his own, besides.
> 
> “… _Why_  do we have to start with the hard-hitting questions,” Tarantulas mumbled. Some thinking, then: “Well, what do  _you_  think my intentions are?”

Constructicons

> They all crowd around him anyway. Even at the table they manage to have him surrounded.
> 
> “It’s either the hard-hittin’ questions or the death threats,” Bonecrusher said. “Your choice.”
> 
> Hook pointed at Tarantulas. “Hey. We’re askin’ the questions here, not you. You wanted a seat, you got your seat. Now talk.”

Tarantulas

> Momentarily it crossed Tarantulas’ mind that maybe Prowl might stick up for him if the Constructicons issued death threats against him - and then the thought quickly crumbled in the face of the results of their last argument (i.e. Prowl trusted him even less) and the fact that Prowl  _was basically part of them_. Damnit. Yet another disheartening realization.
> 
> A defeated exvent. “Yes, well, alright then. My intentions with Prowl.” What  _were_  his intentions with Prowl? “…Hopefully I’m looking forward to, err. Gaining his trust enough to work with him again. And utilizing him as a networking tool for establishing research-related ties.” Yes, that, and absolutely nothing about the romantic or otherwise personal intentions Tarantulas had.

Constructicons

> The Constructicons are not persuaded. “Sure,” Long Haul said, “and I’m here for the internship.”
> 
> Hook leaned in closer, and Mixmaster put a heavy hand on Tarantulas’s back. “Here’s the deal,” Hook said. “Every time you don’t give us a straight answer, you lose points with us. You don’t wanna lose points with us. You’re already startin’ in the negatives. So let’s try that question again. What’re your intentions with Prowl?”
> 
> “ _All_  of them,” Bonecrusher added. And took a dainty sip from his cup.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas fluffed up as soon as Mixmaster touched him - but he didn’t say or do anything, not yet. There was no use flaring up when everyone was still acting mostly civil, which was rare enough in its own right, and he  _was_  here to try to earn points with them after all.
> 
> That didn’t make this any easier though. He couldn’t quite look Hook in the visor. “I -  _fine_. I’m sure you can tell we’re - I’m admittedly romantically interested in him. That’s something I’m intending on pursuing, although it’s… I’m not going to… well. It’ll proceed naturally. Beyond that, I’m not sure. Whatever follows.”
> 
> The last time Tarantulas tried planning something out, it took hundreds of years in the making and culminated in near-death for both him and his native Prowl. So, no more making plans.

Constructicons

> “Now we’re makin’ progress.” Hook sat back in his seat, crossing his arms. “How ‘bout a little more detail.”
> 
> “You shootin’ for conjugation?” Long Haul asked.
> 
> “You monogamous?” Bonecrusher threw in.
> 
> Mixmaster’s hand didn’t lift from Tarantulas’s back. “You know we’re a package deal—right?”

Tarantulas

> Even if the hand was still there, it was moderately comforting that Hook retreated from his aggressive stance. Alright, so maybe Tarantulas could work with this.
> 
> “I - conjugation isn’t necessary, especially seeing as things appear to be different here in terms of matrimonial statuses. I suppose I wouldn’t  _mind_  it though.” A little bit of a lie - he’d definitely fantasized enough about what their conjugation ceremony might look like.
> 
> “As far as monogamy, that’s a rather moot point, am I not right? Since you  _are_  a package deal, I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if I were strictly monogamous.” Even though he’d adore having Prowl all to himself.

Constructicons

> “But you want it,” Long Haul concluded. The others nodded in agreement.
> 
> “We don’t count on the monogamy issue,” Bonecrusher said, “we’re part of him.”
> 
> Hook nodded. “Yeah, it ain’t a relationship when you’re the same person. We wanna know about other bots.”
> 
> Mixmaster leaned more heavily against Tarantulas’s back again. “He’s already seein’ somebody. There might be more. Whadda you think about that?”
> 
> “What’s normal where you’re from?” Hook asked.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor narrowed at the “same person” comment. From what he understood, Devastator was literally a gestalt, something greater than the sum of its parts. That was… quite different than being the same person. He’d have to investigate a little more into what they meant by that sometime.
> 
> “Yes, well, I’m aware he’s seeing Quark. I’m actually meeting up with him in the near future for a scientist play date. As for what I think about the situation…” A tiny pause. “He’s… in a probationary phase at the moment. I’ve not made up my mind yet. In any case, if it seems he’s wasting Prowl’s time or shows any minuscule chance of harming him…” Tarantulas left the ending open to interpretation.
> 
> The next bit though - he could tell them how things actually were in his native universe, or he could lie and do his best to align it with what things seemed like in this one instead. Seeing as lying hadn’t done him any favors lately, he stuck with the truth.
> 
> “Normal is a relative term, of course, but things are… slightly different there. More formal, more… dancing around things. Hyeh, or maybe that’s simply me, I’m not sure - but I digress. Both monogamy and polyamory are socially acceptable. Conjunxing for amicas or endurae is reserved for seriously committed relationships - it seems to be similar to this universe in that respect, from what I can tell. Is there anything else you’d like to know, or that I missed?”
> 
> He refrained from touching upon sexual subjects - if the Constructicons hadn’t brought it up yet, Tarantulas certainly wasn’t going to be the first one to do so.

Constructicons

> Devastator  _was_  greater than the sum of his parts. His parts were not full people. Devastator was.
> 
> The Constructicons glanced at each other, silently discussing Tarantulas’s summation of Quark. Finally, they reached their conclusion, and again Hook spoke for the group: “If Quark causes Prowl any kind trouble,  _we’re_  dealin’ with him.” Not a censure of Tarantulas’s plans for Quark—far from it—but calling dibs on the privilege of doing damage. “Anybody who hurts the boss or makes him upset is gonna answer to us.”
> 
> “ _Anybody,_  Long Haul echoed, as the four Constructicons glared darkly at Tarantulas. For a brief moment, the weight of Mixmaster’s servo increased even more; and then it vanished completely.
> 
> “What about  _you?_ ” Hook asked. “You mono or poly?”
> 
> “Bet he don’t know,” Mixmaster said. “Boss thinks he never even fragged before.”
> 
> “How come he’s into eggs, then?” Bonecrusher challenged.
> 
> “Who knows. Maybe it’s a bug thing.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas nodded in concession to the Constructicons at large. He’d be more than happy to let them deal with Quark on their own - he wasn’t too keen on getting his hands dirty, literally or figuratively.
> 
> Notably he did freeze a little at the dark glaring, but at least it was brief. He moved on as if it hadn’t happened. “I, hmm.  _Probably_ monogamous, unless you consider dedicating oneself to the pursuit of science a -”
> 
> Oh  _Primus_ preserve him. Tarantulas immediately puffed up indignantly. “First of all. Arachnids. Are.  **Not**. Bugs _._  I’m  _this_  close to extracting the spark of the next imbecile who even so much as  _implies_  as much, it’s a farce, all of it. Especially the eggs, it’s  _not_  - it’s not related. And yes I  _have_ interfaced before,  _thank you very much_. I swear I’m going to -”
> 
> Ah. Probably shouldn’t mention anything vaguely threatening involving Prowl when closely surrounded by his incredibly protective and notoriously violent combiner team.

Constructicons

> They exchanged another group glance at  _probably monogamous,_  but refocused on Tarantulas as he started to get angry.
> 
> Long Haul slowly got to his feet and leaned forward, looming over Tarantulas. “Yer a freak,” he said. “You got too many legs. You got gross little legs instead of hands. You’re covered in spikes and shells. You got a bunch of ugly fangs instead of a mouth. You ain’t even a proper Cybertronian no more. You’re a  _bug,_  bug.”
> 
> “You wanna fight about it?” Bonecrusher demanded, cracking his knuckles.
> 
> “You’re even worse than the Insecticons,” Hook said. “At least they ain’t organic.”

Tarantulas

> Although Long Haul’s intimidation tactics worked on a certain level, Tarantulas wasn’t going to physically back down in the least - if nothing else, it’d gain him some respect from them, if he knew Decepticons at all. Hopefully that wouldn’t translate into aggressiveness…
> 
> “Pedipalps. Chelicerae _. Exoskeleton. Mandibles. **Araneae**_ **.** ” Correcting them felt a lot better than dwelling on the various insults Long Haul threw at him. “You know, I’ll deign to accept that you all might be scientifically deficient, but calling me worse than an  _Insecticon_  -” He spat the word. “- is  _beyond_ ignorant. I’m - I’m not going to fight about it, but whatever points  _you_  had with  _me_  have been  **solidly** negated.” Bristle bristle.

Constructicons

> “Metacarpal pistons,” Hook retorted. “Proximal, intermediate, ‘n’ distal phalanx struts. Buccal cavity. Endoskeleton. Dental plates.  _Cybertronia._  Slag ya  _should_ have if you were a Cybertronian yourself, but ya  _don’t._  Insecticons might be dumb drones—but they ain’t xenophiliac flesh-fraggin’  _technorganics,_  and that means they’re  _always_  gonna be better than you. Got it?”
> 
> Mixmaster’s hand returned to Tarantulas’s back, this time higher, closer to his head. “Careful who you call  _scientifically deficient,_ ” he growled. “You’re standin’ in my chemistry lab.”

Tarantulas

> “Oh, just  _listen_ to the pretty parrot recite the textpad,” Tarantulas teased, trying to sound offhand even as the situation escalated. “Extensive knowledge of your native anatomy and chemistry doesn’t mean you don’t have boundless deficits in  _other_  areas. Closing yourself off to the greater multiverse doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, I’m afraid. Xenophiliac techno-organic I may be, but at least I’m thoroughly traveled, multidisciplinarily savvy, and aware of the fact that I’ve still yottabytes of memory to fill with all the things I don’t yet know, things that haven’t even been  _discovered_  yet.”
> 
> Mixmaster’s hand constantly reminded him that he was in a rather precarious situation, but Primus, he just  _couldn’t_ let them walk all over him, especially if he was going to be putting up with them for the foreseeable future. If worst came to worst and things came to blows, he’d just size down and retreat. Simple enough.
> 
> Tarantulas went as if to stand up. “If all you called me here for was to berate and insult me, I might as well  _take my leave_ now.”

Constructicons

> “An’ what were  _you_  doin’, rattling off alien parts like ya think we’re too stupid to know what they mean?” Hook asked.
> 
> “Don’t give us that slag,” Bonecrusher said, “that intellectual class babble. You think it makes you better than us. You’re scum.”
> 
> “You wanna talk about travel?” Long Haul demanded. “How many planets you been to, huh? We traveled the galaxy with Decepticon High Command while you were  _cowering_  in an Autobot-funded  _basement_.”
> 
> Smugly, Mixmaster added, “You  _read_  about Shockwave’s projects. We  _worked_  with him.”
> 
> At Tarantulas’s threat to leave, Mixmaster’s hand pushed him back down. “Uh-uh,” Hook said. “We’re not finished. In fact, let’s talk about Shockwave.”

Tarantulas

> “I was  _correcting_  you. You were the ones who implied you were ignorant, thank you very much. I’ve done  _nothing_ but speak  _straightforward facts_ since I got here - and  _you_ -  _you’ve_ done nothing but look for ways to intimidate and belittle me. You ought to be  _grateful_  I’m willing to put up with this.” A faint hiss.
> 
> “My seclusion was a larval stage of development from which I’ve progressed leaps and bounds, having since visited  _five universes_  and countless planets within them. I’ll admit I’m envious of your work in coordination with Shockwave, seeing as I’ve merely followed in his footsteps, but I’m not about to get petty over it, rest assured.” He probably would, someday.
> 
> Tarantulas didn’t resist the push back down, hopefully not getting shoved too forcefully.  _Technically_  all he’d meant to do was move the conversation forward. “Yes? What about him?”

Constructicons

> “ _You_  oughta be grateful we’re willin’ to  _interview_  ya,” Long Haul said.
> 
> “Ooh, five universes,” Bonecrusher said mockingly. “Like we couldn’t have done that too if we weren’t in jail since the multiverse was made.”
> 
> But the insults petered out there. They’d made their point. Tarantulas could act like he was hot slag on a silver platter, but to them he was cold scoria on a tin foil plate. Anyway, they still had business to discuss. Long Haul and Bonecrusher settled back, Mixmaster let Tarantulas go again.
> 
> Hook asked, “Whatcha think about his last project? Endin’ the universe?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas muttered something about the multiverse having preexisted time itself, but he wasn’t about to make a fuss of it. If Bonecrusher didn’t get the concept now, it wasn’t worth trying to explain during an already tense situation.
> 
> Hoo boy, it sure was nice to not have anyone touching him now. Tarantulas visibly unpuffed. “As per usual, Shockwave’s work was incredibly genius in composition and in action, but the basic premise was simply…  _stupid_. Deliberately forming a singularity is a waste of a universe in my opinion. Besides, it sounds as if other Shockwaves have found much more successful solutions to the energon crisis - notably, ones that don’t end up with them  _dead._ ” Tarantulas went quiet for a moment, a weird mixture of disdain and mourning hovering over him.

Constructicons

> Another moment of silence as the Constructicons glanced at each other, deliberating that answer. But in a moment they’d once again refocused their attention on Tarantulas.
> 
> “What about dark energon?” Hook asked. “You know what that is?”

Tarantulas

> “ _Yes_ , of course I do. Are you inquiring as to what I think of it then? It’s an extremely volatile substance we don’t know  _nearly_ enough about, so I’ll be unapologetically honest and admit I’d love to get my claws on some, but I doubt anyone -” Read: Prowl. “- would let me near any. I can’t blame them, really.”

Constructicons

> Mixmaster grumbled something that, actually, might have been agreement.
> 
> “But that ain’t gonna stop you, is it?” Hook asked. “What about Unicron—whaddaya know about that?”

Tarantulas

> “…Well, it’s not on my To-Do list at the moment.” The best way Tarantulas could squirm his way out of that one while still being honest.
> 
> A slightly confused silence followed. “What  _about_  Unicron? Yes, I know of him, theoretically. I haven’t encountered a universe yet in which he’s scientifically been proven to exist, but following up on the origins of dark energon might help confirm or deny the theory respective to the universe. The subject’s not incredibly interesting to me though.”

Constructicons

> Only a quick glance between the Constructicons that time; it didn’t take them long to draw a conclusion. “What if you found out it’s real?”

Tarantulas

> A spidery shrug. “It’d depend on the situation. Gather information first and… well, probably talk to Prowl. I haven’t thought out the implications yet.”

Constructicons

> “Talk t’ Prowl,” Bonecrusher echoed. They looked at each other, and then focused on Tarantulas again.
> 
> “Fine,” Hook said. “Anything else ya wanna add?”

Tarantulas

> Hopefully all those mutual glances were positive responses. If only Tarantulas could climb inside their heads…
> 
> “What do you mean? And here I thought we were only just getting to know each other, and you go and cut the conversation short?”

Constructicons

> “We’re givin’ ya a chance to tell us anything you want us to know about you, do you wanna take it or not?”

Tarantulas

> “You make it sound as if this is a  _job interview_. …Which, well, in a way I guess it  _is_ , considering I’ll be working with Prowl, but still. What is there to know? You’ll find out eventually, given you don’t tear me to scrap first.”

Constructicons

> “Our standards for a new worker are way lower than our standards for a new lover,” Hook said. “You  _wish_  this was a job interview.”
> 
> “Not that you’re gonna be  _our_  lover.” “Naw. We ain’t interested.” “Just the boss.” “ _If_  you pass.”

Tarantulas

> _Lover_. Hoo boy. Maybe it made Tarantulas’ fuel pump stutter because that  _was_  actually what he was aiming for.
> 
> “I doubt there’s any chance you’re willing to let slip any of those standards or requirements…?” Like, for example, the way Prowl had let Tarantulas know what his checklist was for potential interfacing partners. “And yes, of course, of course. The sentiment is mutual.”

Constructicons

> “Nope,” Hook said. “If we told you, you’d cheat.”
> 
> “Besides,” Bonecrusher added, “the boss don’t want you to know.”

Tarantulas

> “I don’t  _cheat_. I’m simply creative about my approaches to problems.”
> 
> …Hmm. So Prowl did have a concrete list for this, too. Naturally.

Constructicons

> “Cheatin’,” Hook translated.
> 
> “If ya don’t got nothin’ else to say,” Long Haul pointed at Tarantulas’s cup, “have your breakfast.” That was, after all, technically why they were in this room. Breakfast.

Tarantulas

> A pointed glare in Hook’s direction, then Tarantulas turned his attention to the cup. Yes. That. From the smell of it, it wasn’t the best energon in the world, certainly  _nothing_ like obtenteum. He had trouble drinking low grade at the best of times - could he stomach it now?
> 
> “Technically I already had breakfast, but I’m certainly not going to refuse your hospitality. Call it elevenses, then.”
> 
> Even though he’d rather down it all in one go, he delicately took the cup and sipped at it like he presumed they expected him to. Alright Tarantulas, turn your gustatory sensors down as far as they’ll go and pray you don’t choke.
> 
> Belatedly he realized he probably ought to have scanned it properly first. He wouldn’t put it past the Constructicons to attempt preemptive poisoning.

Constructicons

> Hey now, Mixmaster worked hard on it and it tastes fragging fantastic. Or as fragging fantastic as he could manage, under the circumstances. He can’t help it if he’s got no additives to work with.
> 
> And it’s  _mid_  grade, you judgmental bug.
> 
> The Constructicons sipped and/or sucked down their drinks (Long Haul and Mixmaster had straws), watching Tarantulas warily but, for the moment, saying nothing else to him.

Tarantulas

> Oi, oi, don’t go unnecessarily insulting the spider like that. He’s got receipts – the narrator themselves said low grade. Besides, it wouldn’t matter how fantastic Mixmaster made it, it’s still just a ridiculously diluted version of what Tarantulas normally drinks.
> 
> If the Constructicons weren’t going to say anything, Tarantulas wasn’t either. Thankfully it didn’t seem like the energon was poisoned, but it still tasted like crap to him, so it took all his concentration just to focus on sipping it as politely as he could.

Constructicons

> There’s a distinct possibility that the Constructicons think low grade is mid grade, and unfiltered swill is low grade. But if Tarantulas makes a face at the drink, don’t worry. There’s literally zero chance the Constructicons will figure it out.
> 
> He won’t have to worry any more about trying not to gag on the low-grade-masquerading-as-mid-grade, though; it wasn’t long before Bonecrusher tensed. “Uh-oh.”
> 
> “What?”
> 
> “Boss is up.”
> 
> Two full seconds of horror. And then they’re on their feet. Hook scoops up the pot; Long Haul scoops up all the cups; Mixmaster scoops up the spider; and they’re flailing vaguely trying to figure out where to hide all these damning artifacts.
> 
> When the door opened.
> 
> “—they went down to the atrium without clearance, I swear I’m going to…” Prowl froze. The Constructicons froze. Scavenger walked into Prowl’s back, and then he froze.
> 
> “What.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas barely had time to process what was going on before Mixmaster scooped him up, and his first instinct was to cling to him with whatever legs he could in panicked bewilderment. Not the smartest tactic, but thankfully in this situation it didn’t really matter.
> 
> Prrrrrrowl. Boy oh boy. Tarantulas wasn’t supposed to be here, but technically it wasn’t his fault, right? Let’s just cling to Mixmaster a little more and let the guilty parties sort this out on their own, shall we?

Prowl

> “What is going on.” Prowl looked between the Constructicons, who mainly looked at each other for help, trying to dodge their boss’s burning glare.
> 
> He turned it toward Scavenger, who raised his hands. “I don’t know nothing, bo—Prowl.”
> 
> “Hmph.” At last, Prowl turned his glare on Tarantulas—clearly the guiltiest guilty party. “What are you doing? I told you you couldn’t visit without permission.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor went a little paler and wider as Prowl stared him down. Sorry Mixmaster, the spidery grip on you isn’t loosening anytime soon.
> 
> “I -  _they_   **invited** me here! They wanted to meet over breakfast, and I graciously accepted their offer - we’re just -  _don’t look at **me** like that_ -”

Prowl

> “I meant you need  _my_  permission.” His glare turned back up to the guilty Constructicons. “Not yours!”
> 
> They started trying to babble out anxious apologies. “ _Save it._  Why did you invite him here?”
> 
> “We just…” Bonecrusher started, then trailed off, looking to Hook to take the lead.
> 
> “We wanted to help ya, Prowl. We asked him some questions for you—”
> 
> “ _What_  questions?”
> 
> “Uh…” Another helpless shared look between the Constructicons. Hook shook his head, so Long Haul and Bonecrusher took over. “What’re his intentions.” “Is he, uh, is he monogamous.”
> 
> “What.”
> 
> Flinch. “Does—does he know what dark energon is.”
> 
> “ _What_.”
> 
> The Constructicons cringed, falling silent.
> 
> (Mixmaster, meanwhile, had started shivering in disgust. Spider legs. Hairy fuzzy dirty organic spider legs. All over him.)

Tarantulas

> If it’s bothering you that much, Mixy, just  _drop_  him. Tarantulas’ll be offended, but he’ll get over it.
> 
> Tarantulas, miraculously, decided to interject on behalf of the Constructicons. “They  _meant well_ , Prowl, they’re just  _gatekeeping._ It’s nothing serious, and - well, if I were you, Primus, I might just be flattered.”

Prowl

> “They are  _completely_  messing up—” Prowl cut himself off, and looked at Mixmaster. “Put him down.”
> 
> Mixmaster did gladly, dumping Tarantulas on the ground and rubbing his arms viciously. “Euch.”
> 
> “Tarantulas, go home. And don’t come back unless  _I’m_  the one who invites you.”

Tarantulas

> Messing up  _what_? Before Tarantulas could ask, he was dropped like a hot potato onto the floor, his leggy grip broken by gravity. Well  _thanks_  Mixmaster, Tarantulas didn’t like you either anyway.
> 
> Scrambling back onto his pedes, Tarantulas shot everyone in the room a collective squinty-visor look. “Just remember it wasn’t  _my_  fault, I - gah. Nevermind.” Probably best not to screw things up with more bumbling words.
> 
> As soon as he found a break in the crowd, he obediently retreated, his optics flicking back to Prowl the whole time.

Prowl

> “For once,” Prowl said.
> 
> He stared at the Constructicons, face hard, foot tapping, waiting until Tarantulas was out of range before he started ripping them new ones. The four guilty parties wore the expressions of death row inmates facing down their firing squad.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unfinished tale of ups, downs, and sideways arcs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...An unnecessary number of these threads start with rp memes and quotes. This one is no exception.

Tarantulas

> «Isn’t it funny how life is pointless and nothing matters?» 

Prowl

> Tarantulas again. What did he want? Prowl’s plating was still crawling from the invasive scan, and he didn’t trust that Tarantulas wasn’t going to use this conversation to try something similar again.
> 
> He turned his own comm unit off, had Bonecrusher remove his, and physically spoke into it rather than patching it into his processor. If Tarantulas planned on using the conversation to try to hack into Prowl for more data, all he’d get was pictures of Bonecrusher’s horrible art collection and a stupid flame war on the B.C.
> 
> «I don’t consider the inherent meaninglessness of sentient existence to be particularly humorous. Why?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was in such a dull mood that he didn’t even notice the switcheroo (if it was possible to). Besides, he wasn’t about to hack anyone right now even if he did notice - a combination of keeping promises and being dominated by existential listlessness.
> 
> His reply was slow in coming, his vocals monotone. «Scratch that - replace the word “funny” with “dreadfully spark-smothering.” But I’ll take that to mean you’ve thought about it before.» Tarantulas rolled over slightly. «…Please, you’ve got to convince me to get up off the floor. I’m not trying to gain sympathy by saying this, but I’ve been lying here for almost three days now, and even  _I_ know that’s not healthy.» 

Prowl

> Ah. That. Prowl wasn’t sure how to alleviate that sort of despair. His transition from believing that existence had a divinely-ordained purpose to believing that existence had no in-built meaning had been gradual and relatively painless—it had always been on the backburner, and his loss of faith in a larger divine purpose had proceeded in tandem with his construction of his own purpose for the sake of the Autobots.
> 
> He found value in the existence of other people. Tarantulas, he was fairly certain, did not. Which would make it difficult for Tarantulas to find meaning in life in the same way Prowl did.
> 
> «Get up because I told you to.» It was worth a shot.

Tarantulas

> Oh gosh. That was a difficult command to ignore, and yet…
> 
> «…Afraid it didn’t work. My legs still feel like noodles.»
> 
> Part of Tarantulas wanted to spill, talk, explain the spiraling whirlpool of a hole his mind had somehow contorted itself down into. Another part of Tarantulas, however, was too deadened to pull the words together at the moment. Go figure.

Prowl

> All ten of them? And now Prowl was stuck with the mental image of limp noodles dangling from Tarantulas’s back.
> 
> «Then break it down into smaller steps. Sit upright first.»

Tarantulas

> Had Prowl conveyed the mental image to Tarantulas, he might have gotten a giggle out of him. As it was though, his spider legs weren’t actually noodle-y - relaxed, yes, but due to their mechanics they were curled just-so around Tarantulas’ shoulders and abdomen. If he were transformed he’d look like he was molting.
> 
> Alright, Tarantulas would give Prowl’s suggestion a try. Up onto his elbows, pause. Flop back down. Rinse, repeat.
> 
> It was a while until he sent another comm, but when he did he was slumped forward in a sitting position. «…I did it. You know, I get where this is going, but honestly I’m struggling with what’ll keep me off the floor again once I get up. Not that that’s your responsibility, but it feels like someone turned the artificial grav up past seven.» 

Prowl

> «We’ll worry about that once you’re on your feet. Is there something nearby you can lean against?»

Tarantulas

> «There’s… yes. Actually the cart has shelves. Or - aha.» Tarantulas sounded slightly less dead for some reason. Another pause before he commed again.
> 
> «Grappling-hooked and let it pull me up. Hyeh.» 

Prowl

> «You’re two steps ahead of me,» Prowl said dryly. «Where’s the nearest source of fuel?  _Stable_  fuel, not some experimental nonsense you’ve yet to check for side effects.» If Tarantulas had been on the floor for three days, he probably hadn’t been refueling. Prowl didn’t know how quickly he burned through obtenteum, but a low fuel tank might have been contributing to his lassitude.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s assumptions were correct - it’d been five days since Tarantulas had refueled, in fact. «I’ve… Well, I think there’s some obtenteum in the next room.» Hmm. If he aimed correctly, he could probably get a silk thread on it from this vantage point…
> 
> After two misses he promptly gave up. A faint whine eventually came across the commlink. «…I have to walk there, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «You poor thing.» Okay, no, no, he’s not going to be mocking. Mocking doesn’t help. But that  _whine…_
> 
> «You said you have a cart? Why don’t you get on top and use your web to drag yourself around?» Honestly, that would consume more energy than simply walking. But Tarantulas wasn’t suffering from a lack of energy so much as suffering from a lack of will to use what energy he did have. That seemed like the sort of nonsense that would entertain Tarantulas enough to push him past his lethargy.

Tarantulas

> Normally Tarantulas would have fluffed up at the sarcasm in Prowl’s voice, but at the present moment all it did was spark a mini pity-party. He  _was_  a poor thing, really. Thanks Prowl, now Tarantulas was starting to sink back down to the ground again.
> 
> Until Prowl mentioned the cart and webs, that is. Tarantulas’ voice was thoughtful as it came across the commlink. «…Here I was, thinking the cart was a rolling hazard, and you with your singularly wonderful mind went and turned it into an opportunity for transport. Maybe there  _is_  some iota of value in the world.» A mostly genuine statement.
> 
> A moment later Tarantulas was inching toward the cart and crawling up onto it.

Prowl

> «It’s the little things.»
> 
> Well. Prowl’s first attempt to get Tarantulas on his feet had been a non-starter, but he was on a roll now. He waited a long moment, and then asked, «Progress?»

Tarantulas

> The little things… and Prowl. Well, mostly Prowl, really. How does it feel to know you’re the meaning for Tarantulas’ continued existence, Prowl?
> 
> «On top of the cart. I knocked some things off though, it’s not going to be pretty later.» There was a little plume of gas coming up from where two broken vials had cross-contaminated.
> 
> «Trial one proceeding. Target: upper doorframe; angle: 45 degrees; strength: 40%.» Schwoop - a line of silk shot across the room and landed right where he’d wanted. All he had to do was retract.

Prowl

> Exhausting, when it’s not terrifying.
> 
> «Just be sure not to roll over them. You can get them straightened out once you get yourself straightened out.» Prowl hoped there’s been nothing dangerous on the cart. Tarantulas was disinclined to care even at the best of times.
> 
> «Distance to doorframe and velocity of projectile?» He’s trying to visualize it.

Tarantulas

> «28 meters, I’d estimate. Initial velocity was 38.34 m/s. And cart traveling velocity now…»
> 
> Off he went, zooming across the room as he retracted the thread. The pull sent him through the doorway and skidding into the next room, although not close enough to the obtenteum for him to grab it.
> 
> That was…. fun, actually. A little crackle of genuine enjoyment zipped through Tarantulas’ processor thanks to Prowl’s silly suggestion.
> 
> «Average was 15.3 m/s. Distance traveled: 49 meters. 33 meters to target - should I roll there or tug it over to me? It’s on a shelf in a bottle.»

Prowl

> He hit a target 28 meters away? «Your aim had improved.» Used to it would take him several shots. This time it sounded like he’d hit it on the first try.
> 
> «Roll there. If you make a mistake rolling yourself over, all you’ve done is wasted a couple of seconds and ended up slightly off course. If you make a mistake tugging the bottle, you end up with a shattered bottle and no fuel.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh please, it was a large hitbox.» He could have hit the wall any higher up and still succeeded in rolling himself over, really.
> 
> Tarantulas nodded slightly before he remembered Prowl couldn’t see him. «Ah yes. Now for some geometry…» He’d have to get around a desk, so maybe bouncing off the nearby wall like a billiard ball would work. Unless he hit the wall wrong, since he was a cuboid on wheels…
> 
> Or he could shoot two threads, one at the near wall and one at the shelf wall, and pull one and then the other, resulting in a curve around the desk. Yes, that would work.
> 
> «Trajectory: 3 radian 70 m arc around a desk. Threads attached at two separate wall points and pulled at subjective times.» Aaaaand…  _go_.
> 
> Well, it mostly worked. Tarantulas slid in the approximate arc and didn’t hit the desk, but he ended up pulling himself a little faster than he intended and bonked into the target shelf. Down came the obtenteum.

Prowl

> «You’re traveling in an  _arc?_  With two threads?» That was actually really attractive. Prowl was not going to say so out loud.
> 
> He waited for a report on the success of the maneuver.

Tarantulas

> Despite the whole not-saying-it-out-loud, the incredulity in Prowl’s voice belied he was at least a smidgen impressed, which was  _entirely_ too pleasing to Tarantulas. Maybe that was the reason he got distracted enough to bump into the shelf.
> 
> Currently his reflexes weren’t quick enough to catch the bottle (depression kinda did that sometimes), but it landed safely in his lap anyway, currently a mostly-fuzzy span of kneeling-sitting thighs. Tarantulas took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, absentmindedly cradling the obtenteum up to his chest.
> 
> «Yes, and I’m pleased to say the mission was successful. I’ve got the obtenteum now, might as well go ahead and proceed with refueling before I lose steam again…»
> 
> Tarantulas shifted to get more comfortable, sitting with one arm wrapped around his knees pulled up toward his chest. An odd picture indeed, a fuzzy spidermech curled up on top of a wheelie cart in his lab downing a glowing green liquid out of a strangely shaped glass bottle.

Prowl

> “Well done.” Prowl immediately face palmed. No. Wrong. Shouldn’t have said that. He was practically gushing, and it was disgusting. Congratulations were not warranted for getting up off the ground and finding something to drink—especially when it was done by somebody that Prowl wasn’t yet certain he should have any sort of positive relationship with.

Tarantulas

> Congratulations  _were_  warranted for getting up off the floor, thank you very much. You don’t know Tarantulas’ struggles, Prowl.
> 
> Tarantulas downed the entire bottle of obtenteum - probably a big mistake, but at least it wasn’t high grade this time - before he exvented and commed Prowl back. «…What do I do next?»

Prowl

> A good question. Prowl hadn’t set his plans past getting the fuel, because it depended upon what Tarantulas was up to. «Do you feel like standing up yet?»

Tarantulas

> Seeing as Tarantulas had been on the floor for three days, he hadn’t really been up to much. Probably a good idea to make a To-Do list or something, considering all the approved and non-approved projects he had on his plate.
> 
> «…I don’t feel like  _not_  standing up, I suppose?» But he’d rather stand up on eight legs instead of two, and he’d  _much_  rather not transform at the moment.

Prowl

> «Then stand up. Where are you, currently?»

Tarantulas

> A small groan of not-wanting-to-stand, but Tarantulas was able to slip off the cart easily enough and stand there next to the shelf, slightly wobbly and staring off into space. 
> 
> «Well, wouldn’t  _you_  like to know.» No Tor coordinates or descriptions for Prowl, although that probably wasn’t what he was thinking of. «No, I’m in my storage room. Offshoot of my main lab, where I was previously languishing on the floor.» 

Prowl

> «… Are you upright?» The groan was a bad sign.
> 
> «I meant what room you were in, not your coordinates.» But Tarantulas had clearly figured that out. Prowl’s next suggestion would have been going to the main lab, but if that was where Tarantulas had started then clearly the allure of science wasn’t enough for him right now. So, what else? «Do you have any… er. Hobbies?» It was a start.

Tarantulas

> «Yes, unfortunately.» And Tarantulas had even taken a step forward away from the cart now, peering around into the main lab to see if the smoke from the mixed chemicals had dissipated yet.
> 
> …That was an odd question. «Well, I…»
> 
> Aha. Give him a second, Tarantulas had to find a spare pad and stylus first.
> 
> Prowl received a ping a minute or two later with [a doodle](http://aranea-mechanica.tumblr.com/post/152269072689/verdigrisprowl-are-you-upright-the-groan-was). There you go.

Prowl

> «It’s not unfortunate. It means you’re making progress. You weren’t capable of that a few minutes ago.»
> 
> Tarantulas had started to say something and then trailed off. «… Tarantulas. Tarantulas?» He waited with increasing worry as the seconds ticked by—until the drawing came in.
> 
> «Warn me the next time you drop the line,» Prowl scolded, and then studied the picture. «Your anatomy’s more realistic when you aren’t drunk.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas has a bad habit of dropping commlines without explaining himself, Prowl. Better get used to it.
> 
> «Warning you would imply I knew when and why I was going to drop the line.» Sound logic. «And of course. I have to admit though, I’m quite proud of myself for being able to hold stylus to pad at all at the time.» 
> 
> Alright, now Tarantulas is going to wait for Prowl to tell him what to draw.

Prowl

> «… Get back on the line to tell me you’re dropping it.» He was  _worried_ , okay.
> 
> «Yes. Well. Then you can—draw things, I suppose.» He didn’t realize he’s being expected to provide subject matter.

Tarantulas

> The worry implied in the response wasn’t missed by Tarantulas, which helped soothe some of the existential depression that still lingered about him. Prowl  _cared_. That was a new development.
> 
> «Generally when I drop the line, it’s because I’m distracted by something else, so it’s highly unlikely for me to remember to get back on only to get off again.»
> 
> A quiet tap tap tap of the stylus against the pad as Tarantulas fidgeted. «…I don’t know  _what_  to draw.  _You’_ re the creative power in this duo, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «… Can you set up the line so it can indicate when you’ve absentmindedly dropped it rather than been violently ripped from it?»
> 
> Right. Prowl brought ideas, Tarantulas brought inventions. But that only worked in a scientific realm. Prowl didn’t have an artistic strut in his structure. «I—I don’t know. Draw a web.»

Tarantulas

> «What, am I in some sort of immediate danger of violent ripping, then?» A genuine question. «I’ll think of something. Later. Not now.»
> 
> A web. Seriously? Tarantulas rifled through the files on his console and barraged Prowl with a seemingly-never-ending stream of theoretical web types he’d come up with. As much as the subject fascinated him, he’d pretty much exhausted his capacity to draw webs that looked like anything new.

Prowl

> «If the line suddenly goes dead, how should I know?»  _He worries_. «Very well.»
> 
> Oh. That was a lot of webs. Dryly, he said, «I only asked you to draw  _one_  web.» He’s joking. He made a joke.
> 
> Okay. Something a little less obvious. «Er. Me?» No, Tarantulas was obsessed, Prowl was probably about to get a file even bigger than the last one. «No, no, uh… You wanted to design a Chimeracon frame for me, didn’t you? Draw that.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas kinda got it. Kinda. « _Technically_  I did only draw one web. A web of webs, with how they’re organized. I certainly didn’t compose them all individually just now.» 
> 
> «…Your hypothetical chimeracon form. I see.» More tap tap tapping. «…Aha. Fair warning this time, it’ll be a while.»
> 
> It  _was_  a while. A long while. Eventually across the line came a messy but highly detailed sketch of a chimeracon’s root and alt mode. It looked eerily similar to [Prowl II](http://tfwiki.net/wiki/Prowl_II), except more tasteful and true to Prowl’s current frame.

Prowl

> “Kinda” is good enough. It was a really lame joke. «No, I know you didn’t.» Oh well. An effort was made.
> 
> Aha! A warning. «Fine. I’ll wait.»
> 
> And so he did. For the first few minutes, he just sat there silently, waiting. After that, he began fiddling with a desk toy instead, to prevent himself from re-re-recalculating the probability that Tarantulas had lost his spirit and slumped back down to the ground.
> 
> Prowl had been expecting something more like the first doodle Tarantulas had sent him. This was quite a bit more elaborate. «… Huh.» He took a moment to just examine it, attention skipping between root and alt mode as he checked for how the parts lined up as they transformed. Even as messy and simplified as the sketch was, it was clear Tarantulas had ensured the position and scale of all the kibble remained consistent between the modes. «Why am I a flier?»

Tarantulas

> More elaborate than expected? Prowl had asked for a  _chimeracon_ form, and Tarantulas wasn’t about to give him anything less than his best effort, no matter how listless he’d been feeling. Anything for Prowl, after all.
> 
> «I just couldn’t picture you as a land or sea creature for some reason. Probably something silly about associating you with the air element, hyeh. Besides, I figured you’d enjoy a change of pace. It’s a theoretical exercise anyhow, considering you sounded less than eager for a frame upgrade last time I checked.» 

Prowl

> He’d asked for a  _doodle._
> 
> «Air isn’t an element.» Pause. «… You already know that. What do you mean, you associate me with “the air element”?»
> 
> Well… he would enjoy it as much as he’d enjoy any other animal shape, he supposed. Which was to say, not very much. «What kind of bird is it? This  _is_  a bird, right?»

Tarantulas

> He’d expected Prowl to catch that. Some amused chittering. «It’s a human thing, a primitive scientific schema. They considered air, fire, water, and earth to be the constituent elements of all matter, and each had a certain…  _vibe_ to them. I don’t know how else to explain it. Air was considered intellectual, quick, energetically diverse, that sort of thing.
> 
> «And yes - it’s an  _owl_. I didn’t pin you down to a particular species, but the overall Strigiformes order seemed to suit you well enough.» Anticipating Prowl’s next question, he continued: «They’re generally portrayed as wise. Clever, effective hunters. Relatively solitary. Keen senses.» 

Prowl

> «… That’s a horrible schema for elements. Are you sure you don’t mean states of matter? Gas, plasma, liquid, solid? At least  _that_  would be close to a scientifically valid model, primitive though it is.» Humans.  _Humans._  «What does “energetically diverse” mean?»
> 
> Owls. Prowl had seen one or two owls. They were the nocturnal birds. « _Are_ they wise? Or was that produced by the same school of thought that decided fire is an element?» i.e., the stupid school of thought.

Tarantulas

> «No no, they absolutely thought those were the original four. What’s even cuter is that this was only a couple thousand years ago for them - they’ve come so far since then!
> 
> «Energetically diverse, like - different states of energy, not often at rest,  _something_ like that. I’m not actually sure what I meant by it, hyeh. Words get away from me occasionally.
> 
> «And they’re about as wise as any non-sentient animal can be, I suppose. It’s definitely a symbolic notion though, not something founded in fact.» 

Prowl

> A couple thousand years ago. Barely a cycle ago, they thought  _fire_  was an element. «Even knowing how quickly humans develop, they still manage to keep surprising me. Were you there then? How much of their development did you see?»
> 
> Prowl snorted, but a thin smile tugged at his lips. Gibberish. «So I’ve noticed.
> 
> «With only one sentient species on the planet, I suppose a symbolic gesture is the best one can hope for.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CURRENTLY UNFINISHED. Who knows when we'll get around to wrapping it up, but it's not _technically_ relevant to plot, so...


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust issues abound - understandably so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert "why you always lyin" meme*

> _Send Tarantulas a question and he’ll have to answer with 100% honesty._

Prowl

> «What other things have you done to, for, or around me without my knowledge?»

Tarantulas

> Primus damn it all, Prowl wasn’t supposed to catch wind of this whole honesty thing. 
> 
> «You’ll have to be more specific about parameters there, that could literally be  _anything_ , and I’m quite certain you’re going for a particular set of “things”.» 

Prowl

> «Things that in some significant way involve or concern me, but that you would specifically like me not to know about.»

Tarantulas

> So, so, so many things. Tarantulas would have to sift through his recent memory for something not too terrible…
> 
> «I… err. May have bugged your quarters in a few locations when I was scouring it for  _other_  bugs.»

Prowl

> «Tell me where the bugs are.  _All_  of them.» He expected to get a list of half.
> 
> «What else have you done?»

Tarantulas

> After a moment’s hesitation and shuffling around of data, Tarantulas pinged Prowl a diagram of where the bugs were located in the apartment. It exceeded expectations - all ten bugs were included in the map.
> 
> «You sound so  _accusatory_ , Primus.» Not that Prowl’s presumptions of other misdeeds were misplaced. Another pause, then: «…I tampered with your energon dispenser. But quite honestly you  _really_  ought to leave it be, your quality was positively deplorable, and I’ve plans for an additive filter as well. You’ll thank me later.»

Prowl

> He took the map and forwarded it to the Constructicons, so they could identify the energy signature of Tarantulas’s bugs and look for more. He ought to send it to Soundwave, too; maybe Zori could check inside the walls.
> 
> «The Constructicons have been paranoid about our fuel since the dispenser changed without anyone telling us.» Prowl had been paranoid too. «Don’t add anything we don’t approve. The only reason we hadn’t upgraded it ourselves is because I forbade Mixmaster from tampering with it, and you certainly don’t outrank somebody who actually has to drink from it day in and day out.
> 
> «What else?»

Tarantulas

> «…What if I add a particular signature to anything I might do or add?» Tarantulas knew it probably was a futile effort to attempt compromise like that, but still.
> 
> Alright, next down the list…. «…It’s entirely possible I constructed a fake BC account.»

Prowl

> «What if you  _ask for my goddamn permission for once in your life?_ » Prowl is running out of patience.
> 
> «Then it’s entirely possible you’re one of the mechs that the Constructicons told me not to talk to because they didn’t recognize the name. Who are you?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had nothing more to say on the subject without irritating Prowl further, and he knew it. Time to fess up the BC details.
> 
> «…I haven’t added any of them as connections, nor have I spoken with them directly, so I rather doubt it.» AKA Tarantulas has just been creeping instead of actively interfering this time. «…Is it  _truly_ essential I divulge the username?» Prowl knows full well Tarantulas would simply create another one.

Prowl

> «You created it to stalk me, so yes, it  _is_  essential.» The only reason he would abandon the account and create another one would be if he has something to hide. Now that Prowl knows he’s stalking him on the B.C., there’s nothing else to hide.  _RIGHT?_

Tarantulas

> «…Turboboost of Durax.» The account is the blandest thing in the world, full of stereotypical facts and devoid of meaningful connections. Prowl won’t find anything there to prove it was even Tarantulas’, actually. It was merely an account for spying and info gathering via subtle BC mods.
> 
> Come on Prowl, ask him  _again_ if he has anything else to hide.

Prowl

> Turboboost of Durax now has a friend request from Scrapper of Kaon.
> 
> «What else?»

Tarantulas

> Friend request accepted.
> 
> A pause while Tarantulas skimmed recent records and created files. «…I genuinely can’t think of anything else at the moment.» Of course that didn’t mean there wasn’t more than Tarantulas did, though.

Prowl

> «I find myself dubious. I’m sure you understand why.»

Tarantulas

> «…Yes of course. Let’s latch on to  _one_ lie I made and base the rest of our judgments of me on it.» As if it were just one lie.

Prowl

> «You lie consistently and repeatedly, and when you’re not lying you’re hiding things.»

Tarantulas

> It was hard to argue against someone when they were straight-up calling you out like that. «…I’m not lying or hiding things  _now_ , am I? Here - I solemnly swear that if I  _do_  remember anything else, I’ll inform you immediately.» 

Prowl

> «If you were, how would I know? How would I know whether or not you’re keeping that promise?»

Tarantulas

> Trust. It was always about the damn trust issue, wasn’t it.
> 
> Exasperation threaded through his words. «You  _wouldn’t_ , of course. But Primus, Prowl, we have to start  _somewhere_.»

Prowl

> «Every time we start somewhere, you tell another lie, break another promise, or violate another boundary, and we have to start over.
> 
> «And yet, I still haven’t written you off completely.
> 
> «Perhaps  _you’re_  the one who ought to get started.»

Tarantulas

> At Prowl’s words, a pang of something uncomfortably like shame gripped Tarantulas’ internals. And Primus, the disappointment in Prowl’s tone was unbearable.
> 
> A few moments of silence. «…Understood. But this - this means you have to give me the benefit of the doubt instead of always assuming I’ve got something else hidden up my sleeve.»

Prowl

> «I’ll start giving you the benefit of the doubt when you stop living up to all of my suspicions.  _Please,_  Tarantulas, I  _want_  to be wrong about you.  _Give me a chance to be wrong._ »

Tarantulas

> Whatever this meant, whatever that tone in Prowl’s vocals was, this was even worse. Tarantulas’ native Prowl had never sounded like this, and now to hear it like this, it was… spark-wrenching. Tarantulas couldn’t explain why.
> 
> «…I  _am_. I am. This very moment. I may have made some poor choices, but I’m  _undoing_ them. I’ve told you what I know, I’ll inform you if there’s any more, I - I don’t know what else I can do right now.»
> 
> …He could say sorry, couldn’t he? The words were right there in his vocalizer, but for some reason he couldn’t issue them.

Prowl

> «… I hope you’re telling the truth this time.» But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. It was just as easy to lie about turning over a new leaf as it was to lie about everything else. It was easier to lie about changing than it was to actually change.
> 
> He wasn’t going to say thank you. He didn’t want to risk thanking someone for lying to him.

Tarantulas

> A weak mumble that Prowl might not hear. «…I hope so too.» If Tarantulas had to determine if his promise this time was a lie or not, he’d make another cliche’d reference to Schrodinger’s cat. Prowl would understand.
> 
> Sorry. Say sorry, Tarantulas. «…I… Prowl…» Squirm fidget squirm.

Prowl

> Prowl heard it. He figured that was probably the most openly honest thing Tarantulas had said today.
> 
> «… Yes?»

Tarantulas

> …He couldn’t do it. Not because he was too proud, but because he didn’t think Prowl would believe him.
> 
> A click, and the line solidly disconnected.

Prowl

> Not even a goodbye?
> 
> Well. He’d been harsh, he supposed. He’d had to be. Tarantulas had likely concluded he didn’t deserve a goodbye. He was probably tossing things around his lab and fuming right now.
> 
> Prowl waited a moment longer, just in case; and then he hung up too.

Tarantulas

> Prowl was correct about the “tossing things” bit, but it wasn’t so much fuming as it was restless rearranging, actually. Anything but thinking about what had just happened.
> 
> Hopefully the conversation had been a step in the right direction of getting Prowl to trust him, though. Whether or not that trust would be warranted, well. They’d see.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew spiders could have panic attacks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: "trans education featuring Tarantulas and aqua-vehicle metaphors."
> 
> Also, ignore the slight continuity errors concerning Prowl's apartment blueprints and such; the chronology of the few threads around this time was blurry.

Tarantulas

> Waiting. Open spaces. Lots of loud noises and potentially threatening mechs. Maccadam’s wasn’t the optimal meeting place for Tarantulas, but he couldn’t really be picky when he was taking up Rodimus’ time. Hopefully he could just meet him and get it over with quickly… 
> 
> …As if.
> 
> For now he needed to focus on staying put, despite all the urges to transform or get up and leave. Hunched over the table slightly, he drew circles on it with the backside of his claw, a substitute for scratching it. What could he do…?
> 
> «…Prowl?» 

Prowl

> «… What.»
> 
> Two hours. Two hours it had been since they’d hung up, and here Tarantulas was again.

Tarantulas

> You’ll never get rid of him, Prowl. At least this time he had a valid excuse for calling.
> 
> Tarantulas’ vocals were a little strained. «I’m at Maccadam’s, Prowl, and there are too many mechs here and I can’t vent but I can’t leave  _and I don’t like it_.» 

Prowl

> «You’re at wh—? Why in the  _universe_  are you at  _Maccadam’s?!_ » Of all the places—Mesothulas would have a panic attack in there, Prowl doubted Tarantulas would do much better.

Tarantulas

> «Don’t  _shout,_ please.» A half-sparked whine. «Rodimus wanted to meet me here to hand off the generator. I didn’t question it til I got here and now I’m really  _really_  questioning it. He has to have it out for me.» 

Prowl

> Of course he did. It made perfect sense—meet a dangerous mech in a public place and he’ll be less like to do anything. And Prowl had been so distracted just trying to persuade Rodimus to help out that he hadn’t even thought—well, of  _course_  he hadn’t thought to warn Rodimus that Tarantulas couldn’t handle crowds. Making sure Tarantulas wasn’t a threat was more important than making sure Tarantulas wasn’t uncomfortable. If Tarantulas had to endure a panic attack in pursuit of that end, it was a small cost to pay.
> 
> Prowl hated the cost and he hated himself.
> 
> He kept his voice low and flat. At the very least he could avoid making this worse. «He doesn’t have it out for you. He’s an extrovert. He likes bars. It has probably never crossed his mind that there are people who don’t.» An exaggeration, but at least it should help convince Tarantulas that Rodimus wasn’t legitimately trying to kill him.
> 
> Prowl wasn’t qualified for this. He knew that Mesothulas couldn’t handle being in crowds, but only by Mesothulas’s own report. Prowl had never actually had to help him through being out in public, and he could only guess at where to start.
> 
> But hyperventilation was always a safe bet. «Focus on your vents. Get them under control. Count to… uh…»  _what was an appropriate vent length for someone Tarantulas’s size with animal parts_  «… six? In and then out.»

Tarantulas

> Discomfort seemed to be written all over Tarantulas’ fate lately. Prowl better appreciate everything he went through to win him over again.
> 
> Fidgeting a bit, Tarantulas stared and stared at his claw on the tabletop. Nope, he couldn’t vent - it was like his systems had just shut down on him, or there was just such a heavy weight on the mechanisms they couldn’t seem to shake it off. Not quite a panic attack, maybe an anxiety attack, something or other - who cared, not like labeling it made a difference. Silence over the commlink for a while as Tarantulas tried to figure out how to work his fans again.
> 
> «…Six. Why six? I don’t like six, it’s half a dozen and a dozen is a ridiculous word.» Rambling to cover up how he was feeling, to focus on something else.

Prowl

> Oh, like Prowl cared, he didn’t like six either. « _Eight._  Count to eight. Can you do that?»

Tarantulas

> In - one two threefourfive -  _slow down_  - six, seven, eight. Out - more numbers - and there. Done.
> 
> «I - I think I did. Maybe I forgot a number.» Tarantulas was being completely serious - probably five, screw that little pest.
> 
> Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the crowd around him and suddenly felt queasy. Having eight optics and a visor was great sometimes, but definitely not now.

Prowl

> «That’s fine. You don’t need all the numbers. Just keep counting and venting until you’ve established a normal rhythm again. All right?»

Tarantulas

> «That’s bad math. Bad science. Everything’s science, that’s what you said, right? Maybe this can be an experiment, a test. _How long does it take until Tarantulas purges? Hypothesis: 2.4 breems. Variables: noise volume, room population, coping mechanisms, tank levels…_ »

Prowl

> «No no no—no purging. Please don’t purge.» This wasn’t helping. The vent thing was not working. «How do—What should I do? How do I help?»

Tarantulas

> Yeah, sorry Prowl. Tarantulas’ ventilation system is a bit different than the average mech’s, and his vitals aren’t quite the same either.
> 
> «H-hyeh. You’ve got 2.3 breems now. No rush or anything.» Blindly Tarantulas reached into his subspace to pull something out - anything - and managed to get his claws on Deci-klik. «I lied. 2.75 ± 0.02, depending on how long my attention span lasts.» 
> 
> How could Prowl help? What had Tarantulas comm’d him for anyway? Just to hear a familiar voice, maybe, something to anchor him? «I don’t know, I don’t know. I haven’t had to deal with this in a long, long time, but my Noisemaze dampeners don’t work here, it’s - it’s. I don’t know. Talk? You could just talk. Recite pi or something.»

Prowl

> Prowl wasn’t trusting anything that depended upon Tarantulas’s attention span.
> 
> Pi he could do. That was doable. «Three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six four three three eight three two seven nine five…» He’s going to keep going until Tarantulas tells him to stop.
> 
> What was a Noizemaze dampener? Note to self, ask later.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was about to speak up - he hadn’t  _literally_  meant “recite pi” - but for some reason the intonation in Prowl’s vocals was actually kind of soothing. They were solid rational whole positive digits, something he could see in his mind as they were said, part of an irrational number he didn’t have to remember because he had Prowl there to remember it for him.
> 
> Eventually his mind was bound to wander, though. What if they went back to Fibonacci? No, no more numbers.
> 
> «Probably 4.4 breems now, I think - I think offlining my optics helps, but what if I miss Rodimus? Ngh. Nevermind, let him sort that out. Could you talk some more? Words, not glyphs.» 

Prowl

> That worked? That worked. Thank goodness. «So miss him. He has your comm, he can let you know when he’s arrived.»
> 
> Words, words. Pi was easy, he just had to rattle it off. Words required him to improvise. «What—what should I talk about?»

Tarantulas

> If Tarantulas were in a more settled state of mind, he’d be infinitely charmed by how worried and caring Prowl was behaving at the moment.
> 
> «Talk about - talk about your day. About something stupid, the weather, the Constructicons - it really only needs to serve as a distraction. Or a story, that could work, I think?» 

Prowl

> A story. Constructicons. Something stupid. His fans whirred as he combed his mind for an appropriate story. «… One of the Constructicons got stuck in a closet. He was trying to prove that it was too small for him to fit. He was right. He was stuck in the closet for almost seven hours.»

Tarantulas

> «Which one? Was it Bonecrusher? Please tell me it was Bonecrusher.» A chitter of nervous laughter.  «Did anyone have the sense to measure the closet and the Constructicon in question before he tried or no? And how did he get out?»

Prowl

> «… How did you know?» It was a logical enough conclusion for somebody who knew their personalities—but one had to be inside their heads to discover they had personalities at all.
> 
> «No, of course they didn’t. Besides, he already  _knew_  that he wouldn’t fit—that was what he was trying to show off.»
> 
> To answer Tarantulas’s last question, Prowl sent him a picture of a doorway. There was rubble on the ground and a Bonecrusher-shaped hole in the frame.

Tarantulas

> Eeeehhh. Did Tarantulas really want to tell Prowl how much he’d been digging around in and researching his life lately? Primus, he really didn’t need to worry about dancing around that too, on top of all  _this_. «He - he has the largest volume, correct? And given their general temperament, it just?» He shrugged awkwardly, even though Prowl clearly couldn’t see him. 
> 
> A snort at the snapshot. «I’m surprised they - they’re - well, I suppose Constructicons build things, not deconstruct them properly, except Devastator, but even then.» 

Prowl

> «… We’ll discuss that later.» There was no point in interrogating Tarantulas when he was already on the verge of panicking.
> 
> «The closet’s too small for their tastes anyway. They’re going to take out half the wall and rebuild it.»

Tarantulas

> Oh dear. Even those words alone were enough to decrease the hypothetical time till purging back to 3.62 breems - although Tarantulas wasn’t going to announce that this time. He made another nervous chitter.
> 
> «Oh, ah, that makes sense. In your apartment area, then?» More fidgeting, although it was slightly calming to think that Tarantulas would be there soonish. «What… erm, more. Tell me more, like - what could they possibly want to put in a closet, I can’t imagine what the Constructicons would want to store there… Or something about… about…»

Prowl

> Tarantulas was getting more stuttery. A bad sign. Probably Prowl’s fault. He’d intended to simply set the issue aside for later, but it probably sounded like a threat…
> 
> There was nothing he could do about that now but keep trying to distract Tarantulas. «I haven’t the foggiest idea. In fact,  _they_  haven’t the foggiest idea either. All they know is that the closet is too small for them, and they find this fact personally offensive, and so they’re going to change it. They’re probably going to fill it with power tools, or junk they pick up from the streets, or dead bodies, or something ridiculous like that. I think they should just seal off the original doorway and knock out its side wall to add it to the lab space next door, but nobody else likes that idea. Something about messing up their fume hood’s duct work. They haven’t even installed said fume hood yet, I don’t know why they’re already so stubbornly attached to a ventilation system that doesn’t even exist yet. So unless I can persuade them to do something more useful with the space, it’s probably going to end up filled with miscellaneous junk.»

Tarantulas

> «I - I can actually sympathize,» Tarantulas said, vaguely surprised. «Designing a lab isn’t all fun and games, the ventilation needs to angle in particular ways to prevent condensation or leakage.» Maybe he could sit there and fabricate layouts in his head. But what kind, what limitations…?
> 
> Time was ticking down until the arranged meeting time with Rodimus. Tarantulas crossed his nonexistent fingers the mech would be punctual…
> 
> «Do you have the plans for the apartment? Could you send them to me? I could map out hypothetical surveillance locations before I even get there.»

Prowl

> Prowl hesitated at the thought of handing over the blueprints; but the moment Tarantulas had an opportunity to visit, he was just going to find out the layout for himself. Refusing to give it to Tarantulas now would only delay the inevitable. He commed over the blueprints.
> 
> The blueprints were three-dimensional, left out most of the furniture (but not Prowl’s desk), and had only sketchy, theoretical estimates of what the wiring and plumbing behind the wall must look like; they’d drawn the blueprints themselves, and didn’t know those elements yet.
> 
> The blueprints were riddled with notes, most of which said things like "X," ">:(," "ugly," and "DESTROY!!!" One note pointing to an appliance in the kitchen read "looks like tesarus’s ass." A sphere circled an empty space just outside the blueprints and was labeled "STEAL." Doodles and lines showed planned renovations. Somebody had taken the time to sketch a very detailed strip of "police line – do not cross" tape around Prowl’s desk. Tarantulas is free to try to guess who added what notes.
> 
> «They’re converting the washracks into a combined chemistry lab and operating room.»

Tarantulas

> The lack of wiring and plumbing details immediately irked Tarantulas, but at least the minor frustration was better than choking panic. Frustration, and flirting amusement at the notes here and there. Imagining Prowl getting annoyed at the notes was even better.
> 
> «That begs the question of where the washracks will go. I don’t see…» Tarantulas continued perusing the blueprints, mostly silent.

Prowl

> «I haven’t asked them yet because I’m certain I won’t like the answer. But I strongly suspect that the “steal” note in the apartment next door has something to do with that. We don’t know where the plumbing is yet; but since that space adjoins our washrack, it would make sense for that space to be a washrack as well, so that our pipes and the neighbors’ could share a wall.» A weary note entered Prowl’s voice, «I’m probably going to have to intervene soon before they try to commandeer part of our neighbor’s quarters.»
> 
> An issue for another day, though. «As you can see, a closet wall adjoins the washracks, but doesn’t open into it. That’s the corner where they plan on putting the fume hood. Storage space is limited—this  _is_  a converted washrack—and I think they’re cutting themselves off from valuable and limited storage space by insisting on putting the fume hood there Surely that’s not the  _only_  place it could sit.

Tarantulas

> Suddenly there was a raucous cheer from the main bar and Tarantulas jumped in his seat. Calming down enough to get words out took a little while - he stared and stared at the blueprints in his mind, tracing the lines and counting his vents like Prowl told him before.
> 
> «I… think they’re probably right in putting the fume hood there, still.» One two three four. «Maybe a little hasty converting the washracks, but there are options.» Five six seven eight. «They should - maybe you instead of them - get whole unit plans first, then contact the adjoining units to discuss…?» 

Prowl

> He’d gone silent. «… Tarantulas?» Did he puke? Please don’t let him have puked. If Rodimus got there and saw it he might interpret it as a false positive.
> 
> But Tarantulas was talking again. He was all right.
> 
> «I don’t know if they’ll let us have unit plans. Technically, we’re under a very generous house arrest. Starscream can’t stop us from making our own blueprints, but he probably won’t allow us to get the official ones. We may be able to talk to the adjoining unit, though—the guards let us visit the atrium, they’ll probably let us talk to the neighbors too.»

Tarantulas

> «Don’t you have some way of scanning through the walls or something? You’ve got to know what material the walls are made of by now, it should be simple enough.» 
> 
> A little chitter. «You - you haven’t met your neighbors yet? Goodness Prowl, how antisocial.» On one hand, Tarantulas absolutely understood the idea of wanting to stay inside, but on the other, better to know who was on the other side of the wall.

Prowl

> «It’s been difficult to get our hands on basic equipment—like tools that let us scan through the walls. I’m sure they’ve probably figured out what they’re made of by now, but we hardly have x-ray vision.
> 
> «Of course I haven’t met the neighbors. Imagine how that conversation would go. “Hello, mech who rented a loft in one of the nicest apartment buildings in the city—we’re the  _pack of treasonous terrorists_  who Starscream has been vilifying for the past year and we’re your  _new neighbors,_  I hope we get along.“»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, ah, that makes sense. Sometimes I take certain things for granted.» Like the ability to steal science equipment without getting caught or having it confiscated.
> 
> Alright, feeling better, mostly. Tarantulas just remembered he was holding Deci-klik and started unraveling the abdomen and loosening the knots. «You know, it really wouldn’t have to go that badly. Imagine how much worse it’ll be if you wait longer and introduce yourself  _after_  the Constructicons start renovation.»

Prowl

> A groan. «I know. I can’t permit their first contact to be with the Constructicons. I’ll have to greet them myself before the Constructicons get the chance. I  _have_  forbidden them to talk to the neighbors, but…” But that would only last so long.

Tarantulas

> «I get the feeling they don’t take your restrictions that seriously.» Not that Tarantulas had room to speak. However - he had refrained from contacting the Constructicons as Prowl had asked. Admittedly he’d be meeting them soon enough anyway.
> 
> More breathing, more focusing on the blueprints. Little things stuck out here and there, and Tarantulas added a few notes of his own. Again he was fairly quiet, but he pinged Prowl every once in a while to let him know he hadn’t reached his time limit our succumbed to any other anxious misfortune.

Prowl

> «They obey me up until they feel like they’ve reached some arbitrary obedience quota. I should consider myself fortunate they’re willing to do that much.»
> 
> The silence made him nervous. Even with the pings. Pings didn’t tell him anything except that Tarantulas wasn’t dead. «Status?»

Tarantulas

> «Ah, fair.» Then some more relatively calm quiet before Prowl spoke up again requesting an answer.
> 
> «I - stable. I don’t have an estimate on any countdowns at the moment, aside from one til 2230. I’ll comm Rodimus then, I think.»

Prowl

> «Do you know when he’s supposed to arrive?»

Tarantulas

> A small disgruntled noise. «Not in particular. Sometime around then, but I’ve no idea if he’s the kind of mech to actually come on time or not.»

Prowl

> «It depends on whether or not he wants you to have the impression that he’s the kind of mech who comes to things on time. I have no idea whether he thinks of you as such.»

Tarantulas

> «He probably has no idea what to think.» Pausing his work on the blueprints, Tarantulas simply laid his helm down on the table. Not very comfy, but sufficient. «All he knows is I’m a friend of Prowl’s with a funny name.  _I_  wouldn’t even know what to think.» 
> 
> A strange thought meandered into Tarantulas’ processor. «How… how would you summarize me, anyway? If you had to tell Rodimus about me.»

Prowl

> «Then it depends on whether today he feels like I’m an ally worth helping or a potential liability he should cut all ties with.»
> 
> No hesitation. «Fuzzy purple beastformer with lots of legs.» Not a hard question. In this hypothetical context, Prowl would be describing Tarantulas for the purpose of helping Rodimus identify him.

Tarantulas

> «That sounds vaguely depressing. Not close, then?» 
> 
> Helm still horizontal on the table, Tarantulas squinted his visor at the wall. «That’s  _cheating_. I meant intangible traits. Besides, I’m  _not_  a beastformer.»

Prowl

> «I don’t know how he feels about me today.» Not a lie.
> 
> «How is it cheating? If Rodimus asked me to describe you, I would tell him what he needs to know to recognize you. Intangible traits aren’t visible across a crowded bar. And yes—you transform into an animal. You are, by definition, a beastformer. … Unless you still consider yourself a car?» People who changed alt-modes were tricky. «Regardless, you’d  _look_  like a beastformer to Rodimus.»

Tarantulas

> Oh, so Rodimus was that kind of mech. Either that or their relationship was on thin ice for some particular reason, he’d have to find that out somehow.
> 
> «I’m a chimeracon.  _Chimera_. Constructed from multiple sources. Not a natural beastformer who was forged or cc’d with that alt mode. I’m not a car anymore, but I’m not a beast either, I’m just - I’m just  _me_. It doesn’t matter what other people think I am, does it? You can always describe me using other words. It just… really bothers me when people call me that.»
> 
> A pause while Tarantulas mused for a little while. As an afterthought he muttered: «And it  _is_  cheating. You knew what I was asking for.»

Prowl

> «Yes, well, Rodimus has never heard of a chimeracon before, has he? You can explain to him what it is when he arrives.» He tried to ask curiously instead of confrontationally: «What’s wrong with being called a beastformer?»  Since this was Prowl, whose tones of voice were almost all identical, who knew whether that would come across.
> 
> A long pause. «… But that  _is_  how I’d describe you.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _could_  explain it to him, sure, but the point is that I don’t have to be preemptively mislabeled.» Despite sounding a bit emphatic about it, Tarantulas was actually much calmer now with something to focus on, and wasn’t particularly bothered by Prowl’s intonation or lack thereof. «It’s like - it’s like if you were a submarine, but everyone kept calling you a boat. They’re not  _wrong_  per se, because a submarine is basically a boat, but it’s more than that, see? And it gets tiresome explaining how you can go underwater and you have a periscope and ballast tanks, so you just _give up_ , because it’s easier to be called a boat than have to educate for every mistake.» A weary exvent.
> 
> «And I meant  _personality,_ not  _physicality._ That’s all.» 

Prowl

> «So you’re a subcategory of the larger category?» Prowl didn’t see a submarine as a type of boat, but he supposed that was irrelevant to the matter at hand. «Had I hypothetically called you a chimeracon, his next question would have been “what’s that?” and then I would have had to go “It’s like a beastformer, except…” In either case, a false impression has to be given first in order to move on to the facts.»
> 
> Ah. Well then. «I wouldn’t have described your personality. It’s unnecessary to identify you, once he met you he would be able to discover your personality for himself, and you have no personality traits so massively obstructive that he would need to be warned about them beforehand.» A thoughtful pause. «Although had it occurred to me that he’d try to meet in a bar, I would have told him you dislike crowds.»

Tarantulas

> «Nnnno, no. A submarine and a boat are both liquid-faring vehicles, so they’re  _in_  the same category, but a submarine isn’t a boat. But that’s beside the point - it’s more about how a chimeracon isn’t a type of beastformer. It’s  _new_ , I told you. It’s something else. It’s not a derivative, it’s a novel category. Like… like  _Ostaros_.» The sentimentality was heavy in his voice on the last word.
> 
> «You - you don’t even have to say the word “beastformer,” actually. Descriptors like “he has an arachnid alt-mode” or “he’s a part-organic Cybertronian” work just as well, and they’re actually  _true_.» 
> 
> Tarantulas sat up a bit so he could slip his arms under his helm on the table, shoulders hunched over. «I didn’t just mean a description to Rodimus, it was a  _hypothetical_ sort of thing. A thought-exercise. And - I appreciate the consideration, but I suppose you couldn’t have known.»

Prowl

> «… Ostaros is a triplechanger. He’s an armored car and a helicopter.» Sorry Tarantulas, that comparison fell flat.
> 
> «All right, so—you want me to specifically  _avoid_  comparing and contrasting you to the one universally known thing that’s closest to the unknown thing you actually are.» A pause. «… I can try, I suppose.»
> 
> Tarantulas was too generous. Prowl  _should_  have known. «The hypothetical situation would determine my answer. I don’t know in what sort of situation I’d ever need to describe your personality to someone.» Unless it was someone he was warning about Tarantulas. Lately, he’d described Tarantulas to a lot of people as a potentially dangerous former associate with an abnormal fixation on Prowl. He was  _not_  about to tell Tarantulas that. «This exercise was your idea—how would  _you_  describe  _me?_ »

Tarantulas

> A muffled groan from Tarantulas. «Not his  _alt_ , Prowl, his  _origins_. He’s neither forged nor cold constructed, he’s, well, he’s  **Ostaros**. My child. There’s nothing like him.
> 
> «Well, you  _can_  compare and contrast - I just - it shouldn’t be an automatic association, if that makes any sense? I don’t want to be a qualifier tag on a pre-existing concept…» A sigh. «I wish I could explain it better to you.»  _I wish you would just understand me already…_
> 
> Tarantulas tensed up a bit. Well, way to turn the tables there, Prowl. «Well, the literal situation would be  _now_. So if I were to describe you to yourself… I…»A protracted pause. «A… a clever strategist, of course. Introvert. Brilliant, hard-working. A tad inscrutable at times. Frank, but not uncaring.»

Prowl

> _My child_. That sent a jolt through Prowl’s spark. «… Are—are parent-child relationships… Is that a  _thing_  on your Cybertron? I recognize you just implied they aren’t, but—on some Cybertrons they  _are,_  but they aren’t on  _this_  one, and—I’ve never heard you call him that.»
> 
> A moment of quiet. He’s  _trying_  to understand. On some level he does—what Tarantulas turned himself into was no derivative of Cybertronian beastformers. It was something that had never existed before, molecularly, anatomically, aesthetically, and in every other way Prowl could imagine.
> 
> But on another level, Prowl was trying to figure out where Tarantulas would fit on the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy. And no matter what way he looked at it, an alt-mode that moved via ambulation and that mimicked existing fauna was undeniably a beastformer.
> 
> Well. Prowl supposed the Taxonomy  _was_  riddled with errors and contradictions. Perhaps a corrected one would have redefined and narrowed the beastformers so that chimeracons could live on a branch beside them?
> 
> It was still hard to visualize.
> 
> «I’ll… attempt not to make the association. You would be in a better position than I to know whether or not they’re related, so—they’re not.» Difficult though it was to disassociate the concepts.
> 
> «… Mm.» Fairly close to how he’d want to hear himself described. «… I see.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas took a moment to process what Prowl said - he hadn’t consciously realized he’d called Ostaros his child. «I…. No, they’re not a societal standard. It’s just - mostly it’s just the closest approximation of the relationship I have with him - not literally, but emotionally. A-as far as I can gauge.»
> 
> An indirect ping through his console to check on his native Ostaros’ coordinates. Ah - he’d moved. Tarantulas would have to look up the location once he’d finished with all of this business…
> 
> …Also, screw the Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy.
> 
> «Thank you. I - appreciate the concession.» It was an honest thanks - getting that response from Prowl on something the mech didn’t quite understand was a bit astounding in Tarantulas’ opinion.
> 
> A chitter - hopefully Prowl’s minimal response meant he’d done well, otherwise Prowl would be dicing the description to pieces, right? «I’ve done my time, now it’s  _your_ turn. I promise I’ll try not to get upset.» Half joking - he wasn’t anticipating a necessarily glowing review.

Prowl

> «… I see.» Which begged the question, how did Prowl feel about Springer? He’s going to put that question in a box and tape it shut.
> 
> «It’s not a concession. You invented chimeracons, and you  _are_  a chimeracon. You’re in a far better position than I to understand exactly what that means.» Prowl  _always_  defers to his intellectual and social betters in their fields of expertise.
> 
> The trick is convincing him that he’s in the presence of a better.
> 
> «Uh.» Yes. Well. Prowl had walked right into that one. The stalling tactic had lasted as long as it could, now he had to give an actual answer. So here we go. Here it is. … The silence stretched on. Give him a second. He’s thinking. He’s—trying to think. He’s running about five hundred simulations of how Tarantulas will react to anything he could conceivably say.  Give him another second. No, it’s no use. He just has to go with it without finishing his simulations. Time’s up. Here’s his answer. «………… Smart.»

Tarantulas

> Given time, Tarantulas might end up asking Prowl how he felt about Springer, but now wasn’t the moment, it seemed.
> 
> For some reason Tarantulas was feeling slightly meek. «I suppose that’s true. Just don’t let me get carried away with myself on the subject. I’ve a lot of opinions - and there’s a blurry line between opinion and fact.»
> 
> …Wow, Prowl. Just, wow. Tarantulas waited a few beats to see if that was actually all Prowl was going to give him, then started laughing awkwardly. «You can’t be serious. There’s no use telling me the one thing I already know, and  _understating_  it at that. Try again - I used, err…» He skipped back in the conversation. «…Eight descriptors. That’s  _seven_ left for you. Take your time, I’m feeling sufficiently stable enough to handle the wait.»
> 
> There was a lingering suspicion of why Prowl might be taking so long to come up with a description. Of course descriptions were hard, but there was also the “not wanting to upset Tarantulas with subjective honesty” piece, which felt… ominous. Brainstorming what Prowl might not want to tell him seemed a dangerous path to go down.

Prowl

> «… I wouldn’t mind listening. That is—so long as listening serves to help you, in this situation.» Yeah. That’s totally why he wants to listen.
> 
> «You can’t be serious! I doubt I’ve ever used eight descriptors on one person at one time in my  _life._ » This situation completely warrants that hyperbole. «There’s no—I can’t come up with  _seven more things_.» He could think up options, yes. But all the options were bad. «… Excitable?»

Tarantulas

> «Maybe - but first you have to finish the description, hyeh. And it doesn’t matter, all the better to get you to work on your verbal illustrations, so to speak.»
> 
> Tarantulas had sat up a bit now, elbows on the table and holding up his helm. Every once in a while he’d glance at the main doors, but mostly he kept his gaze to himself. Easier to maintain the relative calm he’d only just regained.
> 
> « _Excitable_.» A chitter. «Fair enough, but that’s only two. Try combining words to make longer phrases, I find that helps.» 

Prowl

> «I don’t _want_  to work on my verbal illustrations.» Does he sound petulant? He feels petulant. «Besides, you—you can’t “illustrate” a personality. Personalities aren’t visible.»
> 
> A frown. «You’re describing making a sentence. I know how to make a sentence. And—no. No, I think I’m done. That’s… two is enough for me.»
> 
> He couldn’t tell Tarantulas his fears; and he was pathologically incapable of giving compliments.

Tarantulas

> «Goodness, am I going to have to lead you through this step by step? Let’s call it working on your  _limning_ , or  _portrayal_ , if we really want to be particular about it. Sentences are fine, but mere phrases suffice - as in, I said “clever strategist” and “generally inscrutable” - so you can qualify the adjective or noun. It’s an important skill to be able to make observations in a detailed yet concise manner, I’d be lost in my lab notes without it.
> 
> «How about this: I’ll give you a simple one. There’s the classic dichotomy of introvert or extrovert.»

Prowl

> «No. I’ve said I’m done, and I’m done. I did not sign up for—for social skills training. I’m not participating in this exercise.»
> 
> Yes, he  _could_  have said “introvert” and moved on from there; but he had already decided he wasn’t going to participate any further and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas audibly huffed. «It’s really not that difficult, Prowl. You really - I suppose you don’t technically  _owe_  it to me, but it’s -  _come_  now, really…?» A little bit of light grumbling, but Tarantulas decided to leave it be for a while. Pressing Prowl wouldn’t produce positive results, he could tell that much.
> 
> He laid his helm back on his arms on the table. Where was Rodimus?
> 
> «…What’s your favorite non-high grade-drink? I’m thirsty.» 

Prowl

> « _Really_. I don’t want to.» And that was that.
> 
> «Necessary Evil. It’s technically a high grade drink, but it’s so weak it can be made without high grade and it tastes nearly the same. What’s yours?»

Tarantulas

> Necessary Evil? Tarantulas had to look that one up, briefly sussing out the chemical compositions of the mixture and hypothesizing what they’d end up doing in his system. …Basically nothing, even if it actually  _was_  made with high grade.
> 
> «Hmm, I’ll have to try it, I haven’t had the privilege of tasting it yet.» A few moments’ thought, then: «I… before obtenteum, probably just medium grade with nickel. It tastes like swill now, though, and I still haven’t figured out why.» 
> 
> He left fresh energon out of the equation for obvious reasons.

Prowl

> «Really? Was it obtenteum that caused your change in taste, or your new alt-mode? Does medium grade still taste fine without nickel?»

Tarantulas

> «My first instinct is to say it’s the obtenteum since I haven’t altered the chemical sensors in my intake from my old frame, but I did add  _new_  ones that are organically based, so it might have to do with how organics taste metals.
> 
> «As far as medium grade, hyeh. Approximately the same, just extremely filtered down, which makes sense.» 

Prowl

> «If it  _is_  the obtenteum, that’s probably a bad sign, if putting a new substance in your system radically shifts your sense of taste.» At least it was just the additives and not energon itself that tasted bad. «What do the organic-based sensors add to your sense of taste?»

Tarantulas

> «Nonono, I’m fairly certain it’s the sensors and not the obtenteum, now that I think about it. The new sensors allow me to process most organic flavors without gagging, which has proven helpful on more than one occasion, but they might add a reinterpretation layer of the inorganic substances that makes them -
> 
> «Aha. No need for me to get a drink, anyhow. I do believe Rodimus has… made an entrance.» 

Prowl

> Oh, the way Tarantulas said that made Prowl wince.  _How_  had he made an entrance? Singing? Juggling knives? On fire? Crashing through a window?
> 
> «Will you be all right on your own now?»

Tarantulas

> It wasn’t near as ridiculous as all that, but definitely a dramatically loud one in comparison to Tarantulas’ subtle creepy entrances.
> 
> «I - yes, I believe so. Hopefully this won’t last very long, and I’ll be on my way shortly.» 

Prowl

> «All right.» A pause. «… Thank you.»
> 
> Even if Prowl didn’t actually give a damn about the spark signal generator, Tarantulas was going through all this solely to get it for him. That deserved to be acknowledged.

Tarantulas

> A “you’re welcome” ping as Tarantulas initiated comm contact with Rodimus on a different line. Of  _course_  Tarantulas would go through all this to get the stupid generator. Prowl had asked him to, simple as that.
> 
> Little did Tarantulas know that he was actually about to boost his reputation in Prowl’s book even more once he’d passed all the tests Prowl had lined up for him. Test one - Matrix exposure, coming right up…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick authors' note on Prowl saying "But all the options were bad." The descriptors he actually came up with for Tarantulas are as follows: _Wholly lacking in basic inhibitions. Endlessly fascinating conversationalist. Bereft of most aspects of a healthy moral compass. Capable of creating anything his prodigious imagination can visualize. Stalker. Handsome???_


	12. A Huge Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl makes a Huge Mistake™.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is _starting_ to pay off. A tiny bit.

Prowl

> «What are the prime factors of 2749492048?»

Tarantulas

> Automatically: “24x 211 x 814,423.”
> 
> Then: “…You can do that _yourself_. Why did you ask _me_?”

Prowl

> «Why am I surrounded by morons, Tarantulas?»

Tarantulas

> «Math questions I can answer; existential queries, not so much. Although if it has to do with your _green_  morons, I believe that has to do with Megatron.»

Prowl

> «No, not them, this time. Although they’re certainly not helping. 11111111111?»

Tarantulas

> «21,649 x 513,239. Who is it, then? So I can know who to avoid, naturally.»

Prowl

> «59,752,247? Just an annoyance from another universe. He insists there’s no difference between 40% and 50%, because “the first digit is only one bigger”; he thinks that the way to calculate the odds of one sports team failing to win a single yearly championship for the past one hundred years is by calculating the odds that they won every single game every single year, including the games they didn’t play in; he ignores everything I say and reinterprets it to suit his preconceived notion of what he wants reality to be like; and to top it all off, he argues when I tell him he’s wrong.
> 
> «I would have blocked him by now, but he’s an Autobot, and I have to leave his line open in case there’s an emergency someday and he calls asking for help.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh please, don’t send me _prime_ numbers, that’s _boring_.
> 
> «And whoever he is, that sounds positively pitiful. I almost feel _sorry_ for him, except for the fact that he’s apparently willfully ignorant. I’m obligated to commend his perseverance though.»   

Prowl

> «That’s not a prime number. I think you’re confusing it with 59,752,477.
> 
> «His perseverance is reducing the level of mathematical literacy among the Cybertronian general population, preventing himself from growing, and giving me a headache. An otherwise admirable quality turned toward a negative aim becomes a negative quality.»

Tarantulas

> Oh _crap_. Tarantulas ran his factorization program with n = 10 6 and got the same results - prime - but proceeded to request a more detailed analysis of the number and got the correct result. Time for some code maintenance, then.
> 
> Embarrassed, he pinged Prowl «6073 x 9839» and the line of code that screwed him up. Something recursive that added 230.
> 
> «No, it merely suggests the influence of a separate negative quality - in this case, resistance to change. Don’t waste your time lecturing a brick wall, Prowl.»

Prowl

> A weary sigh. «I feel like I’ve done nothing but lecture brick walls daily since the war started. But I finally managed to get him to go away.»

Tarantulas

> « _Only_  since the war began? I don’t see why you haven’t given up yet, goodness. Glad to know you’re not plagued by ignorance any longer for now, though.
> 
> «…Can I come over?»

Prowl

> «How could I give up? How could I afford to give up? Refusing to talk to brick walls would be refusing to talk and relinquishing all power to have any impact on the future.»
> 
> Of all the audacious requests. After the way Tarantulas had acted the last time he came over without permission? After Prowl had reiterated how much he didn’t want Tarantulas there after the Constructicons invited him over? After Prowl had said that Tarantulas needed to improve his behavior before Prowl could dare consider giving him another chance? After— «Fine.» Dammit.

Tarantulas

> «You could always make the change yourself, you know. Ignorant minds can still be used as pawns.» 
> 
> Yesssss. Tarantulas had expected to be turned down - this was a fantastic turn of events. He tried to keep the glee out of his vocals. «I’ll be over shortly, then.»

Prowl

> Grunt. Tarantulas knows damn well that’s what Prowl has resulted to doing. It doesn’t mean he wouldn’t rather people come to their senses on their own.
> 
> «No!» Prowl is a moron. «Not just— Don’t just _come over_ for no reason. You still need to bring the spark signal generator, remember? _That_ is the only reason you are coming over. And when you’re here, don’t…»
> 
> For a moment, Prowl could feel the crushing weight of all the things he would have to list item by item for Tarantulas not to do while he was in Prowl’s presence, and the knowledge that if he left out a single thing out of infinite possibilities, Tarantulas would hungrily latch upon his unintended negligence and interpret it as deliberate permission. And there was nothing he could do about that.
> 
> «… I shouldn’t let you come over at all. No matter what I do or say, you’re just going to look for ways to take advantage of it.»

Tarantulas

> Oh, bluster all you want, Prowl, Tarantulas knows the spark signal generator is a belated cover-up excuse. You want him to come over.
> 
> «… _Benefit of the doubt_. I’ll be over shortly,» he repeated.
> 
> One claw hastily checked his subspace for the generator while the other tapped coordinates into his portal. Soon enough he was back in Prowl’s universe, then scuttling into Prowl’s apartment. He had the politesse to size up and transform just inside the door, as if he’d come in properly instead of sneaking in past the guards.

Prowl

> « _No!_ No no no! Tarantulas, promise you won’t do anything! Promise me you won’t do anything that I’ve told you not to do or anything I would tell you not to do if I knew about it. I know words are worthless and imaginary but _let me have that much._ »
> 
> He was slipping, dammit. One split second of improperly monitored speech and he risked unraveling every step of progress he’d made with Tarantulas. He needed to reseize control.
> 
> When Tarantulas arrived, Prowl was not visible. The Constructicons were, though; Scavenger noticed him first, and gestured the others over, who crowded around Tarantulas in a threatening arc.

Tarantulas

> A sigh - it was impossible to tell the tone. «I promise I won’t do anything _naughty_ , Prowl.» And with that, the commlink was cut.
> 
> Tarantulas wasn’t sure what to expect when he arrived, but a giant green and purple welcoming party made sense. Wary optics went around the half-circle.
> 
> “Is there some sort of password I’m supposed to know? Or is this a five-headed Cerberus I’m supposed to defeat? A sphinx, maybe?”

Prowl

> One said “Yeah, gimme the password” at the same time as another said “What’s a server-bus?”
> 
> Hook waved them both off. “The boss ain’t happy,” he said. “He didn’t mean to invite you and he don’t want you to be here. If you do _anything_ to make him even _more_ upset…”
> 
> They all shifted subtly, making themselves look bigger. Bonecrusher pounded one fist into the other palm.
> 
> But for now, Hook stepped aside. They’d made their point. “He’s upstairs. In the room where ya stole his blueprints without askin’.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was still too pleased at actually being admitted to the apartment again to be fazed by their intimidation tactics. It didn’t matter what they said about Prowl not wanting him there - obviously that was just surface thoughts and not Prowl’s true desires.
> 
> “Message received.” With a tiny bow to them all, he proceeded upstairs with laser-like focus, shooting silk like the time before.
> 
> Hopefully he’d made enough noise to alert Prowl that he was upstairs - because there he suddenly was, standing in the doorway with one claw on the frame. 

Prowl

> Prowl heard him approaching, but didn’t expect him to arrive quite that fast. He’d been sitting on a berth hunched over, curled around his hands. When Tarantulas came in, Prowl flinched, slid his hands down to his leg, and then straightened up.
> 
> “You’re here.” Stating the obvious. Pathetic. He gestured to a berth across from the one he was sitting on, both an invitation to sit and a ban on sitting any closer.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t sure what to make of Prowl’s posture and actions, but he went with it and followed instructions, perching on the edge of the berth. He wasn’t bound to sit there long, just wait and see.
> 
> “Yes, indeed I am. And so is the spark signal generator, as was requested.” Tarantulas promptly revealed the cube in question - better get this out of the way first before Prowl started nagging him about it. He learned his lesson about withholding things the first time around, after all.

Prowl

> Prowl glanced over the cube. And then said—with completely unfeigned disapproval—“That is _not_ the generator I had on the _Lost Light_.“ He reached out and gingerly took the cube. There were magnets in the corners. Rodimus had gone to the trouble of _customizing_ it. “I _specifically_ told Rodimus— How difficult is it to follow a simple instruction like ‘give me the same cube I had before’? Or at least _warn me_ that it’s going to be different.”
> 
> Beyond an initial twinge of minor annoyance, Prowl didn’t actually care. If anything, the fact that he’d got the wrong cube helped his story. When the signal came out of it was clearly the wrong signal, Prowl (and, by extension, Tarantulas) could blame it on the fact that the cube was different, and therefore the “defective” signal was either a glitch or a cruel prank.
> 
> Although that didn’t change the fact that Rodimus was incapable of following the most basic instructions. “I told him I didn’t want a new one, he said it was _fine,_ it shouldn’t have been hard for him to…” Mutter, mutter. Prowl turned it over until he found the controls, and flipped it on.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas started to splutter out half-apologies-half-excuses until he realized that Prowl was annoyed with _Rodimus_  instead of him, thank goodness. Quiet then, his optics followed Prowl’s digits as he went to operate the generator. Why was he…?
> 
> Tarantulas’ train of thought was derailed by a strange prickle that traipsed its way down his spinal strut. He would have thought nothing of it, except that it only spread from there, as if inspecting his frame with unseen hands. Apparently the intrusive force wasn’t pleased with what it found - it suddenly felt like his organic exoskeleton was being inexorably sloughed off, at the same time as the invisible hands wrapped around his spark and slowly squeezed down. Tarantulas was transfixed, optics bleeding out - the sensation was nauseating, repulsive, even though a cursory scan reassured him that nothing was _actually_ happening.
> 
> “…What in the… what _is_  that, Prowl?” Tarantulas leaned forward despite himself, reaching for the cube. “That can’t _possibly_  be the Constructicons’ resonance, it’s - just, turn it _off_ a moment, will you?”

Prowl

> The phantom inspection clawed up Prowl’s arms, over his knees and legs, an infection traveling from his extremities toward his spark and processor. He could feel its fingers scratching into his mind—he dropped the cube to cover the back of his head, trying desperately to keep it out. The phantom loomed over his spark, crushing it from the outside like a magnet repelling a magnet, stinging and fizzling like an acid meeting a base. Ghosts swirled under his armor.
> 
> Tarantulas’s words shook him free of the half-delusion, at least long enough to do something about it. He lunged for the cube, fumbled with it to find the controls, and quickly turned it off. The lights seemed brighter and the room warmer. Prowl sighed shakily.
> 
> Downstairs, someone bellowed, “ _WHAT THE FRAG WAS **THAT**?!_ ”

Tarantulas

> It didn’t escape Tarantulas’ notice that Prowl grabbed the back of his helm - that seemed like a different symptom than the ones he was experiencing, and symptom-collecting was the name of the game for him right now. Collect data, hypothesize what in the _world_ was going on.
> 
> It all came to a close with the flip of a switch though, leaving Tarantulas dizzy in its wake. At least his organic bits didn’t feel like they were crawling off of him anymore.
> 
> His sigh mirrored Prowl’s as he brought a claw up to his helm to steady himself. “I… I take it that _wasn’t_  what you were expecting, then.”

Prowl

> He shook his head vigorously. “No. That’s—” What was his cover story again? “He— messed up. Must have.”
> 
> He shook his head again, trying collect himself ( _you have a job to do, there’s a purpose to this_ ) and looked back up at Tarantulas, searching his face for a reaction. He didn’t look pained—Prowl was relieved before he even remembered that meant it was that much less likely Unicron had a hold of him—but he was clearly shaken. “How did… What did that feel like to you?”
> 
> A glimmering red light caught Prowl’s gaze, seeping from beneath Tarantulas’s yellow visor. Without thinking about it, he leaned forward, reaching out, one trembling hand taking Tarantulas’s wrist, the other thumb wiping the tear away from the frame of his visor. He still had his old optics.

Tarantulas

> “H-hyeh. That’s certainly one _horrendous_ mess-up.” Tarantulas met Prowl’s searching gaze, racking up question after question he wanted to ask him - but Prowl opened his mouth first.
> 
> “…Well, _unpleasant_ , obviously. Both spark and frame. Somewhat like… spark-suffocating, but at the same time all my techno-organic junctions were firing off, it felt like - like molting. Forced molting. I don’t know how… else…”
> 
> Tarantulas trailed off as Prowl reached out. First his wrist, then the thumb on his face - each touch almost burned with how charged his sensors were at the moment. He held perfectly still though, a mix of confusion and delight and lingering panic keeping him in place.
> 
> …Ah. Optic discharge. He hadn’t noticed he was tearing up until Prowl drew attention to it, and now he felt like he was swimming in it, the way it gathered around the edges of his visor. 
> 
> Dipping his helm down slightly, Tarantulas deactivated his solid-light visor and offlined the optics beneath, using his free claw to disperse the tears. He wasn’t sure why, but he did his best to hide - the action? his optics? - as if he were faintly embarrassed.
> 
> In the meantime, a quiet “…and you?” escaped his vocalizer.

Prowl

> Prowl jerked his hand back as the visor deactivated, and for a brief moment, less than a second, he had a glimpse of too familiar red optics. _Oh._ His spark stopped spinning in its casing and his vents froze.
> 
> Then the optics went dark and were covered, and Prowl jerked his gaze down, looking at the cube—he’d dropped it on the floor between their feet. But his spark was still shuddering as it tried to spin right again—and he couldn’t help but remember, being told that that feeling was a lie. That there was only one, there had only ever been one, and it wasn’t Mesothulas.
> 
> He shouldn’t have done that. “… I’m out of order,” he murmured apologetically, then winced. Not the phrase he’d meant to use. Most of his RAM was being used up, feverishly scanning his system for any lingering malignancy left behind by Unicron’s signal and trying to process what he’d just experienced, and everything from his linguistic programs to his basic decision-making centers were suffering for it.
> 
> As evidenced by the fact that he’d pulled back his hand from Tarantulas’s face and had lowered his own gaze, but still hadn’t let go of his wrist.
> 
> “The same. Not the molting bits, but—the spark-suffocating. And something trying to get in my head.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, absentmindedly, reassuring himself his invisible shield still weighed down on it. “Are you okay?”

Tarantulas

> Out of order? Of course that’s what Prowl would think. Any display of affection toward Tarantulas was a mistake. But somehow the hand on his wrist spoke volumes otherwise, making Tarantulas’ spark shudder in time with Prowl’s. Maybe if he didn’t do anything, Prowl would leave it there.
> 
> Tarantulas’ optics stayed offline until he had the visor back up and running, and only then could he look Prowl in the face. “In your head? Your brain module?” The back of his head, apparently, judging by the way he’d responded. That was… notable. “Did you get any readable interference, or was it simply - it _had_  to be sensory. This is just a spark signal generator, there’s no way it could be…”
> 
> A slow exvent. “…I believe so. Mostly - _confused_.” As terrible an experience as it’d been, it was a _mystery_ , which meant Tarantulas had to know more. “Are _you_ alright? You’re… Let me -”
> 
> Breaking the no man’s land between them and falling to a knee in front of Prowl, Tarantulas gently took the other’s shoulder and leaned around to examine his helm. _Just_  in case there was actually something wrong.

Prowl

> “No, nothing readable. Just, a feeling. Like…” Like fingers in his mind. “Like the same thing that was in my spark. I’m fine. It’s just sensory feedback between Rossum’s Trinity, I’m sure.”
> 
> Prowl’s spark sputtered and sped up again as Tarantulas slid forward to kneel between his legs. But as he tried to inspect Prowl’s head, Prowl leaned back slightly, hand clamping tighter over his mnemosurgery shield. It had attention deflectors, sure, but most attention deflectors failed if someone turned his whole attention on their hiding spot and started searching for something hard to see. Brainstorm’s attention deflectors had to be better than average, but Prowl didn’t want to test their limits. “No.” His voice was soft but his tone was firm. “It was just feedback between my spark and processor.”

Tarantulas

> Good call, Prowl. Probably best not to pit Brainstorm’s tech against Tarantulas’. Maybe another time, when Prowl’s innermost secrets weren’t at stake.
> 
> For once Tarantulas listened to Prowl - maybe it was something in his voice, the fact that Prowl wasn’t yelling, wasn’t pushing him back. Tarantulas didn’t necessarily _believe_  him, but it was clear Prowl didn’t want the subject explored further. And Tarantulas - if he wanted Prowl’s approval - had to respect that.
> 
> A moment of precarious hesitation, then Tarantulas pulled back, sitting on his heels instead. He’d come this far; he wasn’t about to go back to the berth and give up the inch of intimacy he’d achieved. 
> 
> “I see. I do wonder why it didn’t affect me similarly, but we don’t even know what this _was_. Something - something malevolent, obviously. Hopefully nothing to do with Rodimus, but it’s worth asking before I look into it.”

Prowl

> This time—perhaps _only_ this time—Prowl was convinced that the contriteness he’d heard during their previous comm meant that, for once, Tarantulas would listen. But that obedience would fade, as it always did. Mechs like Tarantulas were deferential—bowing down and stepping back when Prowl commanded, hopping up and getting to work at his word—but only up to a point, only until they felt like they’d met some quota for cooperation, or until they got bored and frustrated with playing by someone else’s rules. Compromise was a finite action for them. Had Prowl made the same request of Tarantulas a century from now—a year from now—a week—Tarantulas would have been more likely to snarl and rave and whine and eventually rip Prowl’s hand from his neck to see for himself.
> 
> But for now—only for now—Prowl was safe. He lowered his hand as Tarantulas sank back. “The spark’s connection to the processor varies between individuals. Minutely. Maybe I’m, just…” He made a vague, meaningless gesture. What was the word. “Feedback vulnerable.” No. “ _Susceptible._ ” There. “Anyway, you’re… fuzzy. Maybe that blocked some of it.”
> 
> Prowl leaned forward to gingerly lift the cube. (Don’t think about how close your head and shoulders are getting to his.) “These things were made to use on Decepticons. Generate a lot of fake spark signals to make them think there are enemies where there aren’t. A distraction. Maybe he grabbed a prototype for a weaponized version.” There. That was a good story. Right? He thought it was. It probably was.
> 
> He tossed the cube on another berth. “I’ll comm him about it later.”

Tarantulas

> Compromise was finite, indeed. As uncertain as Prowl’s safety was in the future, a hypothesis could still be extrapolated from the past - and Tarantulas’ treatment of his native Prowl was anything but considerate. Best that you don’t hear of that, Prowl.
> 
> Tarantulas’ optics followed Prowl’s every gesture, meaningless as they might be. Right now he was drinking in everything he could, the light buzz of Prowl’s field, the glow of his optics, the vents they were exchanging. He was so close, he could just reach out and… No.
> 
> “Hyeh. I highly doubt the fur had anything to do with it, given it was a _spark_ signal. I’ve… got a few ideas. I’d still like to know _how_  whoever it was tried to weaponize it, though - you’d don’t just pull spark signals out of your aft. Maybe they overlapped discordant samples, or…?” A brief lapse into thought.
> 
> Part of him wanted to grab the cube back from the other berth and examine it. Another part refused to leave Prowl’s personal bubble (or do anything to make Prowl push him out of it). The latter won, although not necessarily by a landslide.

Prowl

> “Your alt mode blocks _your_  spark signature and EM field from leaking out. Maybe it prevents similar signals from getting in.”
> 
> Prowl shrugged. “If it was sent by accident, then it’s probably still classified technology. Which means you don’t get to look at it.” Sorry, Tarantulas. A thin smile. “You could probably make something better, anyway.” The part of his mind that usually tells him not to say stuff like that isn’t getting its proper share of RAM right now.
> 
> “… You still have your old optics.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas shook his head. “I doubt it, especially since the spark effects were still felt. But I - wait. If it’s classified technology, how did _Rodimus_  get his hands on it? He doesn’t seem the type of mech to get involved in programs like that.”
> 
> Ooh, way to feed the spider’s ego, Prowl. Tarantulas reveled in the feeling for a split second before turning his attention back to the words still coming from Prowl’s vocalizer.
> 
> Oh. That. “…Yes, I do. It would have been wasteful to completely re-engineer a pair of perfectly functional optics, so.” A fuzzy shrug, under whose guise Tarantulas inched a bit closer to Prowl.

Prowl

> “Rodimus is the captain of the ship—and the science lab is rather…” Prowl can’t figure out a graceful way to end that sentence, so he doesn’t. “He might have just walked in, grabbed one, and walked out.”
> 
> A small nod. In his mind, he was rewatching the brief glimpse of red he’d seen a moment ago. He was remembering seeing those bright red lights millions of years ago: glittering gleefully as they discussed some new wicked project, or almost crazed with excitement as he fired up his latest invention, or frustrated or bored or sleepy or happy. And he was remembering—
> 
> _ You were saying things, things I wasn’t sure if you were even aware of. Prowl, you were complimenting me in really more than friend kind of ways and then I confronted you about it in front of the others. _
> 
> —being told that he’d still loved someone else when his memories told him he’d fallen out of love long, long before that. Being told that maybe his memories of loving others were lies. Being told that maybe, when he was sure he remembered his vents hitching and his mind spinning and his spark glowing brighter at the sight of those sunny red optics, really, there’d been… nothing. Nothing at all.
> 
> He had to know. “Could I see?” It wouldn’t tell him what he’d lost, it wouldn’t tell him how much his mind had been changed, but please, he at least needed to know whether or not that feeling was real.

Tarantulas

> Squinty squint. “Unsecured? Lax? That’s highly irresponsible, and this is _me_  talking.”
> 
> …Huh. Why would Prowl want to see his optics? Did it have something to do with the other Mesothulas? Did that mean there was some sort of test he had to pass now in order to take his place? Primus, please let him ace this one.
> 
> “They’re nothing extraordinary… but I don’t see why not.” A glance off in the opposite direction, then Tarantulas looked back as steadily as he could. There was a flicker and the visor was gone, gold giving way to crimson, the shade just as vibrant as Prowl remembered.
> 
> This time, the optics weren’t native Mesothulas’. They were foreign Tarantulas’. The red was framed by purple instead of silver, and the mask had been discarded in favor of more organic mandibles. Changed - but still glowing with the same restless intensity, still harboring a mirrored passion for the unfortunate mech before them.

Prowl

> “Yes, well. The _Lost Light_ isn’t the most tightly-run ship in the Autobot Army.”
> 
> For the first time since they’d met, Prowl met Tarantulas’s gaze directly and held it. The framing was different, yes; silver crown replaced by green gems, the mandibles he’d been so shy about now not only on display but exaggerated. But the optics… still the same shape, still the same color. Still the same—yes—the same restless intensity, the same wild brilliance that had sucked him in once before. And Prowl’s vents hitched, and his mind spun, and he was sure he could feel his spark glowing brighter.
> 
> Maybe the memories were false. He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But the emotion—that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was real.
> 
> … He’s still staring.
> 
> He’s been staring a while now.

Tarantulas

> The way that Prowl was looking at him was… electrifying. Tarantulas had never realized optic contact could be such a momentous thing, but here he was, gaze locked on Prowl like his life depended on holding it there. Anything he could do to stall Prowl’s vents like that, keep his attention. It was intoxicating.
> 
> That didn’t mean he didn’t feel strangely vulnerable though, or that he was immune to the urge to pull away. As the seconds ticked by, he waited, silent, suspended, trying to give Prowl the time to do whatever it was he was so intent on doing.
> 
> Finally he couldn’t take it any longer. But instead of breaking optic contact, he tentatively reached forward, placing both claws on Prowl’s thighs and leaning in a bit more, a bit more. Head tilting down a fraction, optic’d forehelm aiming to bunt ever-so-gently against Prowl’s chevron.

Prowl

> Prowl nearly jumped when Tarantulas’s claws touched his thighs. He’d been so focused on Tarantulas’s optics he hadn’t even noticed Tarantulas’s wrist moving from under Prowl’s hand. His other hand raised to grab Tarantulas’s upper arm, holding him close.
> 
> What was Tarantulas trying to—? Oh. Oh. Prowl shouldn’t let him, it was too soon, Tarantulas still had to get through half of Prowl’s tests… Prowl found his mental protests dying as Tarantulas leaned closer. Screw it.
> 
> He leaned forward just enough to close the remaining distance between their foreheads, half-dimmed his optics, and softly kissed Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had intended to offline his optics when they bunted, but no - Prowl defied expectations and _kissed_ him. Red optics flared even brighter in disbelief. Now it was Tarantulas’ turn for his spark to spin madly in its casing, processor stalling. Oh _frag_. 
> 
> Tarantulas’ claws gripped at Prowl’s thigh plating as he tried to figure out what to do. A pause in which his mandibles shivered against Prowl’s lips, and he pressed forward slightly in response, his own imitation of a chaste kiss. Optics suddenly offlining, he nuzzled to the side, mandibles brushing tenderly across Prowl’s cheek. 
> 
> This was really happening, wasn’t it.

Prowl

> Was Tarantulas trembling? His mandibles were, at least. Prowl could sympathize; on the inside, he was trembling too.
> 
> When Tarantulas turned his head, Prowl lifted his hand from Tarantulas’s wrist to cup his face, and nuzzled him back, trailing kisses along the ridges where his mandibles met his cheeks.
> 
> For the first time in his life, he didn’t have a damn clue what he was doing or where he was going with it—but he didn’t want to stop. He’d missed this, missed him, too much to want to stop now.

Tarantulas

> Prowl. Prowl, everything was Prowl. Hands, lips, legs, the heat radiating off him, the static in the air, every little bit. Somehow Tarantulas needed _more_ \- so the desire guided his claws up Prowl’s thighs to hips to waist and wrapped around him possessively, pulling him forward, inching him to the edge of the berth.
> 
> Kissing was hard with incompatible mouths, though. Nuzzling was pleasant, but it just wasn’t cutting it, wasn’t enough to express how he was feeling. Tarantulas let out a low whine as he nipped at Prowl’s face with his mandibles, recapturing his lips, rippling up his nasal ridge to press and nip at his chevron.
> 
> The rest of the building could come crashing down around them right now and Tarantulas wouldn’t care. He had Prowl, and for some insane reason Prowl _wanted_ him. There was no way in the pits he was letting that go.

Prowl

> Prowl let Tarantulas tug him to the edge of the berth, then slid off the edge himself, landing on his knees, pressing his chest against Tarantulas’s. Well Tarantulas, you’ve been hoping for weeks that Prowl would start to meet you in the middle—how’s that?
> 
> It was hard, yes; but when one half of the party could make the impossible obsolete, the other half of the party saw incompatibility as a mere logic puzzle. Prowl kissed Tarantulas’s chin as Tarantulas nipped at his chevron, then slid his hand to the back of Tarantulas’s head to tip his head down, and tilted his own to the side to line up his lips with the tips of Tarantulas’s mandibles. Even with all the millennia that had passed, even with all the minute differences in the structure and shape of the mandibles, this still felt correct, familiar—the tips of his mandibles pricking Prowl’s lower lip, Prowl’s upper denta scraping against them… He was already mentally measuring the distance between the tips of Tarantulas’s mandibles when they opened, the angles at which they moved, the slight imperfections that differed from the medical data he’d received.
> 
> He was going to pay for this later. He knew that. He’d miscalculated—no, _hadn’t_ calculated—and his mind was already stirring with the beginnings of doomsday scenarios. He’d slipped, and Tarantulas could use that to pick him up and swallow him whole. But dammit, if he was going to have to pay, then first it was going to be worth it. He leaned harder into the kiss, wrapping a hand behind Tarantulas’s narrow waist, pulling him closer still.

Tarantulas

> Oh nono, Prowl. Give Tarantulas an inch, and he’ll take a mile. Prowl’s knees barely had time to hit the ground before Tarantulas was sitting back on his heels and tugging him in to straddle his lap, claws securely wrapped around Prowl’s aft.
> 
> As much as the following kiss was correct and familiar to Prowl, it was novel and clumsy for Tarantulas. It made _sense_ , but the sideways sensation threw him off, made him miss a beat. Inevitably he dove in again though, testing out Prowl’s proposition with more nips and nibbles and attempts-at-kisses. Huh. Not bad.
> 
> The way Prowl pulled him in even _closer_  was almost unbearable. Bumper to chest, faces pressed against one another, arms twining around as if to lock the two of them together… 

Prowl

> He slid onto Tarantulas’s lap with no resistance, squeezing his thighs around Tarantulas’s. This was better anyway. It compensated for the height difference. Easier to kiss. The fuzz was distracting, as it rubbed by, almost enough to drag his attention away from their mouths; he hesitated for a fraction of a second as he got settled, but once he was still, he could ignore the fuzz completely.
> 
> Once they were in position, Prowl let his hand drop from Tarantulas’s head, wrapping it over his shoulder. Either Tarantulas hadn’t done this before, or the Noisemaze had wiped out his motor memory. That was fine. Tarantulas would pick it up fast, he was brilliant. So, so brilliant. So unbelievably, intoxicatingly, addictively—
> 
> There was a noise outside. Prowl froze. The Constructicons. Someone was coming upstairs. They’d felt the signal too. Prowl had told them about this plan, but they probably had to make sure that nothing was wrong, especially considering how long it had been since they’d heard from Prowl…
> 
> Still pressed against Tarantulas’s mandibles, he hissed, “ _Dammit,_ ” and attempted to pull back. This was such a mistake.

Tarantulas

> As per Prowl’s predictions, it didn’t take long for Tarantulas to get into the swing of things. He had quite the adept partner, after all, and _all_ the motivation in the world to perfect his movements.
> 
> Tarantulas had only just lifted a claw from Prowl’s aft, intent on finding sensitive seams to dig his way into, when Prowl raised the alarm. Frag it all, he’d been so caught up in focusing on one sensory experience he’d completely missed another. He _should_  have felt the tremors. He _should_  have expected the interruption. Not that there was anything he could have done about it, but still.
> 
> A flurry of ideas. Should he let Prowl retreat back onto the berth and retain some semblance of respectability? Keep him trapped here, because the Constructicons were going to find out about it anyway, so why delay the inevitable? Drop everything and shrink and run and hide? 
> 
> He acted on a combination of impulses. Although he loosened his hold and allowed Prowl to pull back, Tarantulas still held him in his lap - not strongly enough to prevent him from breaking away, but still requesting that he remain. The expression on his face was less “requesting” and more “imploring,” optics fixed on Prowl’s.
> 
> A hoarse plea. “ _Stay_.” Half question, half command.
> 
> Because if Tarantulas let him go, he feared he’d never have this chance again. But if he forced him to stay, the rest of Prowl’s combiner team would pummel him to scrap.
> 
> Before the Constructicon outside could intrude, the yellow visor flickered back to life, cutting Prowl off from whatever it was in Tarantulas’ old optics that had pulled the two mechs down into this mess. Time to make your choice, Prowl.

Prowl

> Oh, that look. Prowl’s resolve sputtered. It was so hard to say no.
> 
> Hard—but not impossible. “They’ll think you forced me.” Prowl himself would have thought Tarantulas forced him, if he hadn’t just gone through it. He was not going to let a big green moron attempt to murder Tarantulas because he saw his claws on Prowl’s waist and assumed the worst.
> 
> He pulled back quickly, not giving himself time to mourn the loss of contact, and pulled himself back up onto the berth—just in time for Bonecrusher to come in.
> 
> “Is everything okay, Prowl? When we didn’t hear nothing after the signal, we thought…” He trailed off, taking in the scene. Tarantulas kneeling between Prowl’s feet, conspicuously loud vents, static in the air… “The hell’s going on?”

Tarantulas

> Prowl might not be mourning the loss of contact, but Tarantulas was most definitely grieving its passing. He _had_  to honor Prowl’s decision though. It was only logical. He stayed put, visibly pained, while Prowl retreated to the berth.
> 
> Ah, Bonecrusher. Tarantulas tried not to let his emotions suddenly morph into roiling anger at the Constructicon, but he failed disastrously. Curse them all and their paranoia and protectiveness and _complete_  lack of tact, and curse this one in particular for being the one to tear Prowl away from him.
> 
> Tarantulas’ optics flashed. “ **None** of _your_ business. He’s _fine_ , the signal’s gone, and I haven’t done anything to make him _upset_ either, so if you would be so kind as to _take your leave_ now, I’d **greatly** appreciate it.”

Prowl

> Bonecrusher’s optics flared brighter. “The frag is your problem, you little—”
> 
> “ _Don’t_.” Prowl held out both hands, one toward Bonecrusher to ward him off, one on Tarantulas’s shoulder to keep him from getting up. “Everything is fine. We’ve been discussing what might be wrong with the cube’s signal.”
> 
> Bonecrusher looked at Prowl. And Tarantulas. And Prowl’s hand on Tarantulas’s shoulder. “… Like the pit you been discussin’ nothing.”
> 
> Prowl just stared at him evenly. No comment.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t seem fazed at all by Bonecrusher’s response - if anything, the hand on his shoulder was what threw him off. The irritation that’d flared up automatically attempted to redirect itself at the owner of the hand - but that was  _Prowl_ , Tarantulas  _wanted_  Prowl to touch him. Bonecrusher was the one he ought to be angry at. Get a hold of yourself, Tarantulas.
> 
> One claw clutching his thigh to ground himself, Tarantulas stared at Bonecrusher in unison with Prowl (albeit a little more aggressively). “Whether or not we’ve been discussing  **any** subject matter is irrelevant. You’re  _unwanted_ here. That should be sufficient reason for you to put the matter both  _out of sight_  and  _out of mind_. Particularly the  **sight** bit.”

Prowl

> “Tarantulas! He’s doing _nothing_  wrong.” Under his breath, Prowl muttered, “For once.”
> 
> “Hey!”
> 
> Prowl ignored him. “Besides, it’s not as though we’re supposed to be doing anything up here that they _can’t_ see. _Are_ we?”
> 
> Bonecrusher looked between them again, then smacked a hand over his face. “Primus below, you were fraggin’ weren’cha?”
> 
> “We were not!”

Tarantulas

> Now it was Prowl’s turn to get spidery daggers stared at him. “Oho, are there things we’re _supposed_  or _not supposed_  to engage in, now? In any case, it has nothing to do with any of _them_ -” A quick glare at Bonecrusher. “- especially if it **were** interfacing.”
> 
> Which, alas, they hadn’t been. Tarantulas couldn’t decide if that was a fortunate or unfortunate thing.

Prowl

> “That’s the exact opposite of what I meant, Tarantulas, and you know it. Not only do the Constructicons live here, but they also are a part of me, and therefore there is nothing happening in this apartment that they don’t have the right to see.”
> 
> “‘Specially if it was interfacing,” Bonecrusher threw in smugly.
> 
> “No, _not_ especially if it was interfacing. Interfacing is no higher nor lower than anything else. _And we weren’t interfacing._ ”

Tarantulas

> An incredulously widened visor. “A _right_  to see? What about **my**  rights? What if I prefer to have my interactions with one part of the whole to not be rudely and meticulously tracked by the other parts? They’ll most certainly be informed, if not thoroughly _relive_  the experience themselves, at a _later_ time. 
> 
> “All I desire is that Bonecrusher concede the room to us. He’s verified your safety. That’s _enough_.” Alright, daggers back on Bonecrusher, in addition to an unconscious lean in the Constructicon’s direction. Translation: get the _frag_ out and let them continue their unconventional makeout session in peace.

Prowl

> Prowl snapped, “What if I prefer my interactions with your head to not be tracked by your right arm? Can you arrange that?”
> 
> “He really wants to get you alone, Prowl,” Bonecrusher said. “I don’t trust it.”
> 
> Prowl glanced at Bonecrusher, then looked back at Tarantulas; his glare had dulled. And then he lowered his gaze.
> 
> He got to his feet, and walked over to Bonecrusher’s side.

Tarantulas

> Don’t ask Tarantulas to do something you consider ridiculous or impossible, Prowl. You know better than that.
> 
> …Betrayal. That was all Tarantulas felt. He thought he’d sounded  _reasonable_. He thought he’d finally gotten what he wanted. And now Prowl went and sided with Bonecrusher - Tarantulas’ indignant disbelief grew with every step Prowl took across the room. 
> 
> He had to manually prevent himself from saying or doing something he knew he’d regret, making his body language stiff and fur stand on end.
> 
> “… _I **see**_.”
> 
> He’d give Prowl two seconds to get a word in before he disappeared. Two seconds.

Prowl

> It was a rhetorical question. Prowl can no more cut off the Constructicons from monitoring him than Tarantulas can cut off one of his limbs from monitoring him.
> 
> What do you expect Prowl to come up with in two seconds, Tarantulas? It’s going to take him longer than that just to figure out what it is Tarantulas thinks he sees. His two seconds are spent with his arms crossed, looking at the floor, and petulantly shying away when Bonecrusher tries to put a hand on his shoulder.

Tarantulas

> Frankly, even Tarantulas didn’t know what he “saw” at the moment. All he knew was that he didn’t like it, not one bit.
> 
> One, two - time’s up. Tarantulas stood up rapidly and strode over, aiming for the doorway just left of Prowl. A brief pause as he brushed past - one claw going to hook beneath Prowl’s chin, attempting to force him to meet his gaze - visor dropped for a millisecond, optics suddenly _burning_ into Prowl’s -
> 
> And he was gone. He’d never morphed and shrunk that fast in his life, but right now that was the only thing that kept him in control of himself.

Prowl

> As Tarantulas reached for Prowl’s throat, Bonecrusher jerked him back and wrapped an arm around his chest. Prowl didn’t resist this time, leaning back against Bonecrusher. He glanced up, just in time to make optic contact, and then immediately looked down with his optics blazing.
> 
> He reached up to grip Bonecrusher’s arm as Tarantulas shrank out of sight, but he didn’t do anything to stop him from leaving.

 

* * *

Tarantulas needed to break something. Lots of somethings. Violently.

At least he had the sense to port himself back to the old Cybertronian base instead of the Tor itself - this way he could set himself loose on the ruins of his old life instead of wrecking his laboratory yet again. It wasn’t quite as satisfying to throw boulders and bend metal supports as it was to upturn cluttered lab benches and explode cabinets full of chemicals, but it was less expensive.

When the chaos finally settled down and the dust in the air began to dissipate, a tiny spider dragged itself out of the rubble and crawled back to the safety of the Tor. Primus almighty, he was  _exhausted_.

But he couldn’t sleep yet. He had far too much to think about first.

* * *

The Constructicons, standing, looked down at Prowl judgmentally. Prowl, sitting, looked at his laced hands neutrally.

Finally, Long Haul broke the silence. “I can’t believe,” he said, “we leave you alone five minutes, and you start fraggin’ the spider.”

“We weren’t interfacing.”

“Then what the frag  _were_  you doing?!” Scavenger asked.

Wow, Prowl’s hands sure were interesting today. “… Kissing.”

A collective groan. “Aw,  _Prowl._ ” “That’s even worse.” “You’re killin’ me!” Prowl gave them a quizzical look.

They didn’t explain themselves. It was, after all,  _completely obvious_ why kissing was worse than fragging.

“Prowl, you gotta get your act together.” “He’s dangerous—you know that.” “He don’t respect ya like we do.” (Prowl snorted.) “He might hurt you.” “He’s a fleshy little freak.”

Prowl scowled. “Watch it,” he said. “I don’t want to hear any xenophobia out of you lot.”

“He is a freak, though!”

“So are we,  _Devastator.”_

They scowled back. "We’re different and you know it.”

“We are not,” Prowl said, “and I don’t want to hear you calling him a freak or insulting his organic parts. Call him dangerous, call him disrespectful—I’d say call him immoral, too, but you lot don’t care—” (they shrugged; it was a fair cop) “—but do not call him a freak.”

They glared at Prowl sullenly. “… Ya can’t control yourself around him.”

He flinched, and looked down at his hands again. Oh, it burned to hear the  _Constructicons_  accuse  _him_  of not being able to control himself—all the more because he knew they were right.

They waited a respectful amount of time for Prowl to object. When he didn’t, Hook stepped forward. “We oughta be there supervise when you’re around him.”

Silence. Then a subdued nod.

The Constructicons relaxed slightly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like the aftermath isn't so much _after_ math as it is _sweeping-things-under-the-rug_ -math.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the group-associated Lost Light hosts in-character movie streams once a week. Soundwave ([slenderwave](http://slenderwave.tumblr.com/)) is in charge of the current series, and has chosen to show TFP as a personal documentary/PSA of what happens when you mess around with Unicron and dark energon. Prowl _really_ wants Tarantulas to absorb that message, so...

Prowl

> Wordless comm ping. Please answer. Please don't be weird about it.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t answer immediately. If Prowl was counting, it took two hours, three minutes, and twenty-three seconds, which was approximately five hundred times the length of Tarantulas’ usual response rate.
> 
> And all Prowl got was a wordless comm ping in return.

Prowl

> He sent a second comm in the middle, to make sure Tarantulas got it.
> 
> He’ll take a wordless comm ping, though. It’ll do. That’s good enough. «… I want you to come to the Lost Light movie nights. With me.»

Tarantulas

> This time the wait for a reply was two minutes and nine seconds, still much longer than usual. Tarantulas’ voice sounded strained.
> 
> «…Movie nights. With you. Whatever have I done to have earned the honor of such an invitation?»

Prowl

> «… You didn’t stay and make a fuss. I… appreciate that. And—you were right. We have to start _somewhere_.»
> 
> Blatant lies. He wants Tarantulas to watch the movie.
> 
> But it’s a true lie, too. «I’m giving you an opportunity to demonstrate your claimed commitment to not stepping over my boundaries. It will be public and there will be other people around. If you _do_  misbehave, the potential damage you could cause will be minimized.»

Tarantulas

> Hah, as if running off like he did was for Prowl’s benefit. 
> 
> «Understandable. Chaperoned interaction in a neutral space.» Basically like a prisoner with visitation rights, but this wasn’t the time for Tarantulas to get snippy with Prowl.
> 
> «…Why are you _actually_  inviting me to this. You _want_ me to come. Why? What else do you want?» There had to be more. There was always more.

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> Silence.
> 
> Mumble mumble «… spend time with …» mumble mumble mumble «… sit next to …» mumble.

Tarantulas

> _ Oh _ .
> 
> That was not what he was expecting to hear.
> 
> «So you want to _date_.» A hint of nervous laughter. «Not _exactly_ , not _formally_ , and with unconventional strictures on one party, but _still_. Tell me I’m wrong.»

Prowl

> «…………………… you’re wrong.»
> 
> But it was _hard_.

Tarantulas

> The pause told Tarantulas all he needed to know, and _absolutely nothing at all_.
> 
> « _Well_  then! I’m afraid you’ll have to explain yourself in your _own_  words because quite frankly I have _no idea_  what is going on right now and how in Primus’ name do you think you can _casually comm me up_ and expect me to agree to doing something I don’t understand the full implications of especially when we - after what we - _you can’t just_  -»
> 
> …Give him a moment.
> 
> «…This is _ridiculous_. My apologies. I’m behaving like a newbuild. But I’m sure you see my point.»

Prowl

> « _Friends_ can sit and watch a movie, Tarantulas. Friends and _nothing more._ You’re under probationary consideration for that position, entirely dependent upon how you conduct yourself.»

Tarantulas

> « _Friends._ Yes. Friends. Of course. Everything makes _so_ much more sense now.
> 
> «…Sarcasm, if it wasn’t apparent.»

Prowl

> «… Last time was… an error. I hope—I _hope_ —not a _bad_ error. But we’re not there yet. _I’m_ not there yet.
> 
> «We’re going to do this properly. In order.»

Tarantulas

> You’re killing him, Prowl. Killing him.
> 
> «I’d ask you to clarify what you mean by “there” and “this,” but the last time I did that I believe I got called out for requesting that you state the painfully obvious, so apparently we’re leaving things vague. Wonderful.
> 
> «…I - damnit. I’ll think about it. When and where?»

Prowl

> Give him a few seconds to try to come up with sufficiently precise wording.
> 
> Nope. Not happening. «Yes. We’re leaving things vague. I am not prepared to commit to any specifics.» Because he _wasn’t_ doing this to go on a goddamn date with Tarantulas. He was doing this to get him to watch the dark energon PSAs, and he could not promise that that would lead to a relationship when Prowl was trying his hardest to resist falling into one.
> 
> «Tonight. The time it begins varies; you can look out for Rodimus’s announcement comm. It will be on the _Lost Light_ , in its movie room. There’s usually about a dozen people there, but there might be more.»

Tarantulas

> You may not be doing it to get dates on purpose, Prowl, but it might just end up turning out that way, at least if Tarantulas has any say in it.
> 
> «Noted.» A beat. «Is there anything else I ought to know? Unspoken rules of etiquette I’m inevitably going to break? What will we be watching, anyway?»

Prowl

> «Our thus far established rules of conduct still apply. Respect the other guests’ boundaries—stated, implied, and probable. I recommend you don’t go around trying to tell everyone you’re close to me the way you did when you comm'd all my allies, unless you’d like to hear me publicly denounce those claims. If you need to leave or hide, don’t shrink smaller than I can see. No leaving the designated guest zones on the ship, which will be clearly marked off with sealed doors. No publicly discussing any history between us, recent or ancient. If you have any doubts about acceptable behavior, inquire.
> 
> «Documentaries of some sort, from another universe. The end of another timeline’s war. Think of it as examining another amoeba on the pin in the butterfly specimen. Or whatever your metaphor was.»

Tarantulas

> «If you couldn’t tell, I learned my lesson about that the _first_ time around, and I’m also highly unlikely to engage socially if there are as many guests as you’re anticipating - so, no worries on that front.»
> 
> A half-sparked snicker at the mention of the metaphor. «Something like that. Documentaries still have bias, though. Is it a universe from which any of the attendees originated?»

Prowl

> «It doesn’t hurt to reinforce the lesson.» A pause. «I can’t do anything about the crowd size. It’s… not ideal. If it becomes overwhelming, I’ll attempt to assist.
> 
> «As far as I’m aware, no attendees are from the universe in question. Some attendees may come from a _similar_  universe, but not identical.»

Tarantulas

> Assist? What did that mean? Did that include holding hands? Because Tarantulas would _totally_ fake a panic attack for that.
> 
> «I’d appreciate if you would point them out for me sometime if you’re acquainted with any of them - for curiosity’s sake.»

Prowl

> Prowl is aware of the risk. He’s hoping Tarantulas won’t be that dumb.
> 
> «If they’re there, you’ll probably be able to identify them yourself—they’ll look like the mechs in the documentary.»

Tarantulas

> «Aha, that makes sense.» A long pause.
> 
> «…I’ll await Rodimus’ announcement.»

Prowl

> «I’ll be expecting you.»

 

* * *

 

This was going to be excruciating, wasn’t it.

But Tarantulas couldn’t say no. He couldn’t  _not_  go. Prowl had personally invited him to movie nights now so it was practically obligatory, and it was his best chance of getting more interaction with him moving forward. It was his chance to “prove” to Prowl that he was trustworthy. To earn his “friendship.” Right.

It wasn’t ideal. It certainly wasn’t Tarantulas’ cup of tea in the  _first_ place. But he was already punching the Lost Light’s coordinates into his portal, and there was no backing out now.

 

* * *

 

[Movie night ensued](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/152926656454/nov-7-lost-light-stream-transformers-prime-1-5).

 

* * *

 

Too much. Too much.

Too many mechs, too much noise, too many surprises. Tarantulas thought he was going to watch a documentary, but the night ended up more like a soap opera, and he barely remembered any of the actual video content. His head was buzzing.  _Quiet_. Think.

Prowl was… inscrutable, but most likely irritated or upset. Was it Shockwave? Smokescreen? Or was it Tarantulas’ mere presence? Maybe the fact that he wasn’t paying attention? Something that he said? Something he did? Everything felt  _wrong_ , and he didn’t like it.

And Shockwave himself. Tarantulas  _had_  to get in touch with him somehow. He doubted Prowl would be much use in that respect, but Soundwave might be a point of access. He should comm him.

And the videos. He had to actually watch the videos.

…Later, he’d do all of that later. For now he was simply going to weave himself into a small hole in the corner of the ceiling and pretend he didn’t exist. Optics: offline. Comm unit: disengaged. Blessed silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Was it ever mentioned that Tarantulas has a huge crush on Shockwave? Because he does.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl extends a manipulative peace offering. Tarantulas buys it and earns himself some drama-free conversation, for once.

Prowl

> A comm ping. And then, because Tarantulas had ignored Prowl the last time he'd only comm'd him, a one-word opener: «Tarantulas.»

Tarantulas

> He hadn’t _ignored_  him. He’d just… delayed.
> 
> Slightly weary. «That’s my designation, yes. To what do I owe the pleasure?»

Prowl

> Was the attitude really necessary? He’s trying to say hello.
> 
> «You’re not going to pay attention to anything at those movie nights so long as Shockwave’s across the room, aren’t you.»
> 
> A split-second pause, enough for Tarantulas to contemplate the question; and then Prowl went on without giving him a chance to reply, «I could introduce you.»

Tarantulas

> For once, the attitude was unintentional. Go easy on him, he’s still mentally recovering from the other night.
> 
> …And now he’s mentally recovering from _this_.
> 
> «…Introduce me? As in, in person, or via comm?»

Prowl

> «In person. The next time he attends. I _am_  his ally’s ally; I can have it arranged.»

Tarantulas

> Momentary panic at the prospect - but that’s what Tarantulas had wanted, right?
> 
> «I don’t understand. Why would you _want_ to introduce us? Not that I’m not interested -» he added hurriedly, «- but it doesn’t seem you have anything to gain in the matter.»

Prowl

> A short pause as Prowl decided what motives he wanted to fabricate.
> 
> «Because I am certain that you’ll be completely incapable of focusing on anything else, including me, until you’ve met him. … And because _you_ want it.» There. Half selfish jealousy, half actual consideration for someone else’s wishes. Not in line with the typical image Prowl tried to project of himself, but one that should appeal to Tarantulas and that wasn’t out of line with his recent horrible missteps.

Tarantulas

> Squint squint. Even _with_  Prowl’s recent horrible missteps, the claims were still hard for Tarantulas to take at face value. He didn’t audibly question it though.
> 
> «…At the next movie night he attends. I - actually have a request to make.»

Prowl

> Squint away, Tarantulas. You only have to buy into it enough to cooperate.
> 
> «What request?»

Tarantulas

> «Well - accommodations, per se. This last evening was… overwhelming, and not an experience I’d like to repeat. Not simply because Shockwave was there, but in any case. My attention span and comfort level would be exponentially increased if I were allowed to, ah. Inconspicuously settle myself somewhere in alt mode and communicate via comm.»
> 
> In short, can the smol spide sit on your shoulder and watch movies with you?

Prowl

> «… It was far more crowded than I’d anticipated. There were over twice as many guests as I’d anticipated, and several of them were _exceedingly_ obnoxious.» In other words, Prowl’s sorry. «That sounds fine. Just settle yourself in a spot where I can see you and let me know where you are.» Prowl didn’t realize that Tarantulas’s “somewhere” meant “Prowl’s shoulder.”

Tarantulas

> Chances are Prowl might not find out where that “somewhere” was until Tarantulas was solidly established there.
> 
> «Much appreciated.» A sigh of relief, then: «…I suppose that meeting Shockwave would occur either before or after the showing. Although I’m not quite sure why it has to occur _then_  and not at some other time _._ »

Prowl

> Chances are Prowl might toss him off if he tries to get on without getting permission first.
> 
> «According to Soundwave, Shockwave is very busy. As you might imagine. Apparently movie nights are one of the only times he sets aside for socialization.
> 
> «Besides, since I’m locked up, I can’t “visit” anywhere that isn’t within range of my holomatter avatar equipment or that doesn’t have hologram projectors that I’ve been given clearance to access. So if I’m to make a personal introduction for you, it has to be either on the _Lost Light_ or the _Emperor_ , and Shockwave only visits one of those ships.»

Tarantulas

> Some more quiet thinking from Tarantulas. Everything Prowl was saying made sense, even as much as the particulars didn’t appeal to him. He’d just have to learn not to look the gift horse in the mouth on this one.
> 
> «I do wonder when you’re slated to be “unlocked.” It’s such a terrible inconvenience.» Mumble mumble.

Prowl

> «Starscream is infuriatingly whimsical. And even at that, it doesn’t all depend upon him—it also depends upon how long it takes to get the Iaconian populace to a point where they won’t riot if they see me walking freely in the streets.
> 
> «Shall I let Soundwave know you’re interested in meeting Shockwave, then?»

Tarantulas

> A sympathetic grumble from Tarantulas. Primus damn the public and their misguided sentiments and unwillingness to change their minds. This is why he rarely went out or made himself known to the general populace.
> 
> «I - yes, please do. And if there’s any way I can be informed in advance if he’ll be attending the upcoming movie night I’d certainly appreciate that.»

Prowl

> Prowl faintly appreciates the sympathy grumble, but he doesn’t really need it because he isn’t really bothered. He knew what he was getting into when he assaulted Metroplex.
> 
> «I’ll ask Soundwave, but he may or may not know.»

Tarantulas

> «Fair.» Shockwave was, of course, a busy mech with an unpredictable schedule, and likely had very little time for frivolous meetings with less prestigious scientists. Tarantulas would be lucky if Shockwave even knew his name.
> 
> Think. Think of something else to say. Keep the conversation going.
> 
> …All Tarantulas came up with was a growing yearning for physical contact that he had no way of sating, save for the one in a million chance he could convince Prowl to let him come over again. He daren’t ask, for fear of getting shot down. Going without something was easier than begging for it and being denied.

Prowl

> If “fair” is all Tarantulas has to say? Prowl’s going to assume the conversation is wrapping up.
> 
> «I’ll see you at the next movie night.»

Tarantulas

> Scrap.
> 
> «Nonono, I - _don’t go_ , not yet. Unless you have something to do in which case I shouldn’t keep you but if you have time - I just… want to talk. Not _talk_  talk, but chat. I like hearing the sound of your voice.» …wait, he hadn’t meant to _say_ that out _loud_ -

Prowl

> «You what?»
> 
> It was a terrible idea. But a _tempting_  terrible idea. «Well, I…»
> 
> However, Prowl currently had people to stop him from making tempting terrible ideas. Hook had, for the duration of the conversation, been sitting across from Prowl, listening in. The moment Hook noticed Prowl wavering, he leaned forward, hand hovering over the comm unit, ready to turn it off if Prowl cracked.
> 
> Prowl mouthed,  _please_?
> 
> Hook shook his head angrily.
> 
> Prowl mouthed, _five minutes?_
> 
> Hook glared at him. Then threw up his hands, sat back, and crossed his arms.
> 
> “… I have a few minutes free.”

Tarantulas

> If only Tarantulas knew Prowl had asked please in order just to talk to him - he’d be thrilled. As it was though, he got the impression Prowl was reluctant at best.
> 
> It didn’t make him any less glad to have Prowl’s attention though. «I suppose I never properly asked - how are you?» Start with the basics.

Prowl

> «Essentially unchanged from the last time we spoke.» He was living with the Constructicons. He didn’t want to get into details. «You?»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, that essentially means nothing seeing as we haven’t talked about how we actually are in quite some time - but I’ll take it.» Tarantulas doubted Prowl would have much else to say on the subject. «I’m… well, I’m alive, for one, which never ceases to amaze me. Scattered. Tired. Recovering from a long nap.»

Prowl

> «The last time we spoke, you were _there_. You saw how I was.»
> 
> A snort. «Don’t you nap to recover from being awake? When _aren’t_ you recovering from one or the other?» And then a pause. «… Did I wake you?»

Tarantulas

> «It’s different to ask someone to articulate it in words. In my experience there’s always more than meets the optic.
> 
> «…Not exactly.» Read: yes. «Normally it doesn’t take me quite so long to recoup, but it’s proportional to how long I recharge. Another reason to take naps instead of longer recharge sessions, but it was necessary.»

Prowl

> «Why are their words more reliable than observations? Most people respond to “how are you” with a stock phrase that doesn’t change no matter what their actual condition is.»
> 
> That was _absolutely_ a “yes.” «… I’m sure you don’t have any sort of sleep schedule you can send me so I won’t interrupt you in the future.»

Tarantulas

> «I figure if I’m invested enough to ask how someone is, they’re probably reciprocally willing to tell me something more involved than a stock phrase.»
> 
> That actually made Tarantulas laugh faintly. «That’d be wishful thinking, yes. I don’t mind it though. The benefits of conversing often outweigh the benefits of recharge, if we’re comparing them second for second.»

Prowl

> «Hm. I find most people give stock phrases anyway, regardless of the relationship.» Prowl had.
> 
> «Really? Are all your conversations that fulfilling? In general, I would think that conversing _necessitates_ recharge far more often than it _outweighs_ it.»

Tarantulas

> Huh. When was the last time Tarantulas had actually asked anyone other than Prowl how they were doing? Maybe Prowl had a bit of a wider perspective on this one, which… Tarantulas didn’t know how he felt about that, hah.
> 
> «But you can _tell_  when someone you know uses a stock phrase in a particular way, or at least I think so.» Or maybe he reads too much into situations than is actually there.
> 
> «Ah, there was an asterisk on that sentence - conversing with specific individuals.» Like Prowl. Or Shockwave. Maybe a few others, but it varied. «Besides, I don’t give my comm out to people I don’t wish to converse with.»

Prowl

> Prowl had to contemplate that a moment. «… Can you?» Because he can’t. Usually. If somebody says “I’m great” while they’re gasping out a sob he’s going to guess that they’re not quite being honest, but outside of that…
> 
> «You _never_  give it to people you don’t wish to converse with? At some point giving your comm to somebody who needs to have it but whom you don’t actually want to talk to is inevitable. Unless, I suppose, you’re a hermit who only ventures out to steal lab supplies and stalk your ex-patron…»

Tarantulas

> «Oh come now, don’t make me doubt my already-flimsy social skills. I like to think I know when someone’s hiding something at least… 75% of the time.
> 
> «Never say never, but…» He trailed off, only to make a few tiny indignant noises at the description. « _I’m not_ \- that’s an _unfair depiction_. Inaccurate. Particularly the latter part. Besides, you’re not my ex-patron, not ex- _anything_ , you’re a spectacularly recent addition to my life who actively discourages most of my work.»

Prowl

> «People who are most confident in their ability to detect lies usually rank under the 50th percentile.» Actual fact. There was a paper on it. Prowl participated in the study. He hadn’t been told how successful he himself was at detecting lies.
> 
> Prowl suppressed a chuckle. (Hook gave him a sour look.) «All right. A hermit who only ventures out to steal lab supplies, occasionally lurk in movie nights, and stalk the _alternate_  of your ex-patron.»

Tarantulas

> «Usually,» Tarantulas retorted. In actuality he was not, in fact, above the 50th percentile.
> 
> Still more indignant noises. «I get out more than that. Just because I don’t interact with people when I do it doesn’t mean I’m a hermit, I’m merely… antisocial. As if you’re one to speak, in any case - you’re not exactly a social butterfly yourself. The only reason you’re required to give out your comm so freely is because you’re an Autobot.»

Prowl

> All right. If Tarantulas wanted to be overconfident, let him. Right now, it was to Prowl’s benefit for him to be easier to lie to.
> 
> «I never said I was different. And no—I’m not required to give my comm out freely. I do so because a wide network of connections is necessary for my work.»

Tarantulas

> Don’t be a hypocrite now, Prowl.
> 
> «I was insinuating that you’re more liberal with distributing your comm because you’re associated with a larger institution of mechs than I am. I have the freedom to pick and choose my contacts because I’m largely self-sufficient.» And also because he had ways of poking around to get what he wanted without actually _talking_ to people.
> 
> «I’m curious - how many frequencies _do_  you have on file?»

Prowl

> «Hm. I’d still have to distribute it widely even if I wasn’t associated with the Autobots.» The price one pays for setting oneself up as one of the only people who can save Cybertron from its own stupidity.
> 
> «Currently?» He checked. «… Exactly one hundred, coincidentally. Although I have a much longer list saved elsewhere, in case of emergencies. Those are just the ones on my comm. How many do you have?»
> 
> Hook covered the comm and hissed, “Ya shouldn’t be tellin’ him things.”
> 
> “What’s he going to do with that info?” Prowl hissed back.

Tarantulas

> «I suppose it has more to do with profession, then.»
> 
> A thoughtful sound. «That’s slightly lower than I was estimating for you, actually. I… err. My active contacts come to a grand total of _twelve_.» And that’s multiversal, sadly enough.

Prowl

> «Basically.»
> 
> Twelve. _Twelve._ «… Wow.»
> 
> Hook mouthed, _Loser._ Prowl pointed at Hook and held up eight fingers. Hook shrugged.

Tarantulas

> «…I’m feeling more than a little judged right now.» He may have been rubbing his neck in embarrassment.
> 
> «But - but if you go back in time and count the cross-references and co-authorization of my research papers, it’s bound to be at least as long as your list of emergency contacts.» Not boasting, merely stating fact.

Prowl

> «I’m not judging. I’m just—surprised. I was expecting at least thirty.
> 
> «My list of emergency contacts is the saved contact info of everyone who’s ever called me or who I’ve ever called, and numbers in the millions. Even taking out the numbers of people who only called me and that I ignored or blocked, and the numbers of people who were merely part of mass comms and whom I didn’t speak to directly, it’s still hundreds of thousands. Unless you’re far more prolific than the Mesothulas I knew, you didn’t publish _that_ many papers.»

Tarantulas

> «Who would those thirty people even be? Friends? Business contacts?» There was definitely an air of desperate laughter in his voice. Friends? What even are friends?
> 
> Oh. OK. That was a lot. «Maybe not _that_  many. I did say cross-references though, which…» Give him a moment to calculate. «… _does_  actually reach the _tens_ of thousands, thank you very much. Sadly I stopped publishing a long time ago though.»

Prowl

> «Business contacts, obviously. Not all materials can be obtained via pure thievery, and you _were_  associated with that anarchist group for a while.»
> 
> Yes, well. They all stopped doing things a long time ago. «Did you… ever actually interact with all of the people in the cross-references?»

Tarantulas

> «They’re not in my active contacts anymore, and I do most of my business indirectly.» Why would he talk to _people_  when he can simply order stuff on the datanet with forms and whatnot?
> 
> «…Nnnno. _They’re_  the ones who cited _me_ , they did all the chatter on their own. Citation counts as conversation in the scientific world anyhow.»

Prowl

> «“Indirectly”? As in through an agent, or without asking permission first?» Could be either, with Tarantulas.
> 
> «Oh.» Tens of thousands of people citing Tarantulas’s work. That few? Prowl thought it should be higher. Then again, much of his most groundbreaking work never made it as far as research papers. «Is that a widely-held opinion? I’d think that, even in the scientific world, conversation counts as conversation.»

Tarantulas

> «What do you - oh  _please_. Through an agent, that is, if you count digital interactions as agent-mediated.» 
> 
> Yes, most of his best work never got published, notably because Tarantulas either didn’t want to share or because it wasn’t fit for journals in the first place. «I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s _widely_ accepted, but you have to keep in mind that scientists aren’t exactly extroverted individuals. Or maybe that’s just me and the “crowd” I ran in, who knows.»

Prowl

> «Really. Hm. So you’re paying for things now?» Wouldn’t that be nice.
> 
> «Probably your crowd. I’ve known quite a few extroverted inventors and scientists. They’re exhausting.»

Tarantulas

> «I _have_ been. And I _will_.» That doesn’t mean he’s been legitimate about _all_  his interactions, or that he plans on doing so moving forward either.
> 
> Tarantulas made a sound of distaste. «That sounds awful. Where do they get the energy for it? Their focus ought to be on their work, not on incessant attempts at unnecessary communication.»

Prowl

> «Good.» It was, at the very least, a good start. «Where are you getting money?»
> 
> Ah, the mysterious lives of extroverts. «I couldn’t tell you. Typically, though, they turn that energy toward discussing theories with other extroverted scientists and collaborating on cross-disciplinary projects. So I’d say their focus _is_ on their work.»

Tarantulas

> «It depends. Odd jobs, mostly.» Don’t make him go into it, Prowl, he doesn’t want to have to explain why one of his pseuds is unusually well-known in certain deep datanet niches.
> 
> «That’s - well, I can’t argue with that. Goodness, that sure does make a solitary mech feel comparatively insufficient at their work.»

Prowl

> « _Odd jobs._ » Okay. He won’t question that now, but he’s going to remember it.
> 
> Prowl could think of nothing to say to that but _you’ve done all right keeping up,_ and he was most certainly not going to say that. «… I should go now.» Hook nodded in approval.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had been hoping to hook Prowl into a slightly longer conversation, but he’d said “a few minutes” after all, and he may actually have had a reason for it, so…
> 
> «I… suppose I’ll see you at the next movie night, unless something momentous happens before then. Is there anything else…?»

Prowl

> «No. Nothing else.» Even if there had been, Hook’s furious headshake would have shot it down. «I’ll see you at movie night.»

Tarantulas

> A small noise of acknowledgement. «Until then.»

Prowl

> Prowl hung up, then looked at Hook. “Well?”
> 
> “You’re too soft on him.”
> 
> “What, because I deigned to talk to him for five minutes? You think anything short of murder is ‘too soft.’”
> 
> “It  _is_.”
> 
> Prowl shook his head and took his comm unit back. The conversation was over. Hook was dismissed.


	15. Spide Meets Idol Divine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas is finally introduced to an alternate Shockwave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stream chat log that precedes this thread can be found [here](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/153411600509/nov-14-lost-light-stream-transformers-prime-6-9)!
> 
> Also a note: this canon-divergent Soundwave uses group/individual text comms primarily because Prowl can't handle the whole "telepathy" thing. It's part of their agreement that Soundwave not use that ability on him in any fashion.

Tarantulas

> Thanks for reminding him to switch into root mode, Prowl. As much as he figured Shockwave might be interested in his work, he probably didn't want to start off the conversation as a tiny talking spider, for his dignity's sake
> 
> Not that he had much dignity at the moment anyway, or at least that's what it felt like. Nervously he hovered at Prowl's elbow, reaching to grab the holo's arm. "What if - what if he asks me a question I can't answer. Or if I freeze up - I do that, I'd absolutely - or stutter - I _can't_ ruin this for myself, Prowl."

Prowl

> Annnd suddenly, Prowl is being clung to. Well. Great. He should have seen that coming. He considered trying to brush Tarantulas off, but decided at this point it didn't matter—right now, Tarantulas needed the support more than Prowl needed to assert their boundaries.
> 
> "What question could he possibly ask that you can't answer?" Prowl asked. "He's an incredibly famous scientist, he's probably used to admirers freezing up or tripping over their words around him. And if he's half as bright as he's supposed to be, he'll be aware that that's no reflection on his conversational partner's intellect."

Tarantulas

> If Prowl wasn't going to stop him, Tarantulas was simply going to keep clinging. Both claws wrapped around as they moved along.
> 
> "That's _highly_ overestimating my abilities. There's so much I don't know - and he's doubtless older than I am, larger repertoire - can we just do this another time? Yes, that sounds like a good idea."
> 
> Evidence that spiders do not, in fact, have spines.

Soundwave

> _Doubtless older than I am?_ Tarantulas has no idea. _Soundwave_ has no idea. But he'll keep that little fact to himself and continue trudging along behind them in silence.

Prowl

> Prowl stopped dead. And stared at Tarantulas. And then turned to glance over his shoulder at Soundwave.
> 
> «What do you think? It WOULD buy us more time.»

Tarantulas

> Before Prowl could say anything, Tarantulas was already muttering again. "No - no. I have to. This would be a disgusting waste of an opportunity, I owe it to myself -"
> 
> A deep vent, and then, if Prowl wasn't moving yet, Tarantulas was going to start tugging him along himself.

Soundwave

> Or not.
> 
> (txt): Soundwave thinks Tarantulas: nervous. Fear displays: unimpressive. Must overcome. That, respected.
> 
> As much as "respect" applied to such situations, anyway.

Prowl

> «It seems he figured that out himself.» An internal sigh. He'd almost got his hopes up.
> 
> He picked up the pace to keep up with Tarantulas. "So, say he knows more than you. If he asks you a question about a field you don't know about, admit it and ask him for more information. He can hardly expect you to randomly have studied the exact same fields as him, can he?"

Tarantulas

> "No, no, he - he hardly knows anything about me, if he knows anything at all." A note of despair. "I suppose that keeps his expectations low. But I want to make a good impression, I - I -"

Prowl

> "He knows about your work." He gestured vaguely at Tarantulas's body in general. "He knows about this."

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was quiet for a moment, half-choking almost - was that a good thing or a bad thing? And what was Shockwave's main realm of study in his universe? He wished he had a way of knowing before he dove head-first into this situation, but asking now seemed a bit too late.
> 
> "He - alright, well, that's good to know. Is there anything else? Things I should know before I go thoroughly and irrevocably humiliate myself in front of a Shockwave I'll have to spend movie nights around for weeks to come?"

Prowl

> "Hm." Prowl didn't know him well enough to say. _He likely won't actually care about a single thing you or anyone else says that isn't directly related to science_ probably wouldn't sound quite as reassuring as Prowl meant it. He glanced back to Soundwave. "Anything?"

Soundwave

> Soundwave placed a loading circle on his visor. Give him a second to compile advice. He's got to find a way around saying the same thing Prowl avoided.

Tarantulas

> Despite making up his mind to go through with it, Tarantulas would take any reason for stalling he could get, so he wasn't about to rush Soundwave. He'd just keep clinging. And maybe fidgeting a bit.

Soundwave

> (txt): Flattery: useless. Display respect, listen, do not interrupt. Avoid personal questions at current juncture. Shockwave not shrinking universe; comparisons unwelcome.
> 
> He gave Tarantulas' clinging arms a pointed look.
> 
> (txt): Do not touch.
> 
> (txt): ...Unless permitted.

Prowl

> "And I would appreciate if you'd let me go while you're actually talking to him."

Soundwave

> (txt): Agreed. Self-sufficiency helpful.

Prowl

> Prowl just didn't want to be clung to, but he wasn't going to argue the point.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a strangled laugh. Alright, he could probably work with that. Probably. Flattery might slip out a little anyway, he couldn't help it.
> 
> At Prowl's request, Tarantulas hesitantly released his grip on the holo's arm, instead holding his claws anxiously at his midsection. "Reasonable. Feel _more_ than free to send me advice during the conversation if you're so inclined, by the way."

Soundwave

> (txt): Suggestion recorded.
> 
> A dangerous request to have made, but only for Tarantulas. Soundwave didn't mind dragging Tarantulas into his debt for the occasional bit of carefully chosen assistance.

Prowl

> Prowl didn't mean right then, but—again—he wasn't going to argue.
> 
> Especially since they were now approaching Shockwave. Prowl slowed down as they drew near.

Shockwave

> For someone who is currently the subject of discussion, Shockwave himself is silent-- waiting patiently with a fabricated feline cradled in the crook of one arm. Footsteps are easily overheard in this secluded side area of the ship, prompting him to turn and watch the trio's approach.
> 
> His optic gives Prowl only a cursory graze before settling on Tarantulas, impassive but unrelenting, its illuminated central lens swiveling a few scant degrees in either direction. Soundwave's already told him why he's here. Everything else is just a fly meandering into the ointment.

Tarantulas

> It was _Shockwave_. Shockwave was staring at him. Somehow the focus of a single optic felt far more intimidating than eight or eight million optics ever could. Already Tarantulas had questions - the range of the optic, the visible wavelengths, whether it was original or recent - and yet he knew he'd forget them in mere seconds once a new round rushed in. That, or his mind would go blank in terror. He could only wait and see.

Soundwave

> Zori saw Tarantulas and promptly buried his optic in Shockwave's nearest leg. No.

Prowl

> Prowl glanced over at Tarantulas as they approached. He hadn't collapsed yet and he wasn't _visibly_ terrified. Good enough.
> 
> He stopped in front of Shockwave and focused his attention on him. "Shockwave. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us." He gestured at Tarantulas. "This is Tarantulas—I sent you some of his recent work." He considered whether etiquette required him to introduce Shockwave to Tarantulas in turn, as redundant as that might be; but he decided that Tarantulas probably wouldn't hear him even if he had.
> 
> And that was it. Prowl's part was done. He stepped back and hoped Tarantulas didn't as big a fool of himself as Tarantulas feared he might. (Not, of course, that it made a bit of difference to Prowl's plans whether Tarantulas impressed Shockwave; and in fact in the long run it would probably serve Prowl better if Tarantulas didn't. But still... well. He'd lock that emotion away to examine later.)

Soundwave

> While Prowl introduced the pair of scientists to each other, Soundwave took the chance to send his other deployers into the bridging area so they could return home and get back to work or leisure time as the schedule dictated. It was a small room. He could see and hear everything happening himself.

Shockwave

> The antenna closest to Prowl flicks, acknowledging that he's heard the introduction, before it and its brethren settle into an upright position. Casual interest. Not that anyone but Soundwave is terribly well-equipped to interpret the mood of a mech with no face.
> 
> "Yes." By now, he's not only had time to review said work-- he's reverse-engineered a part of it. A smaller part than he'd like, however. Tarantulas' webbing was the only section described in sufficient _procedural_ detail, and there are many things he'd like to ask. The only question is whether it would be wise to ask all of them while Prowl is present.
> 
> Shockwave's free hand resumes running its claws gently down Chimera's spine in a steady, repetitive gesture.
> 
> "I commend your... dedication to the craft." Or in other words, his body. A living, ventilating portfolio piece. It takes a very particular sort of mind to expend their own frames on the altar. Most aren't willing to take that leap, and metamorphose into something magnificent, yet unrecognizable.

Prowl

> Prowl stepped back to stand alongside Soundwave. «Do you think he means that commendation? Or is he just using flattery to ensure Tarantulas will listen to what he has to say about dark energon?»

Soundwave

> (txt): ...Difference matters?
> 
> Making sure Tarantulas would listen was the main reason they were doing this, no?
> 
> Soundwave glanced at Prowl before returning his gaze to their companions, thinking. He didn't want to give Prowl a complete play-by-play on Shockwave's thoughts, but the occasional comment couldn't hurt. Would probably keep the tension between his allies at a reasonable level instead of letting it shoot through the roof, in fact.
> 
> (txt): Skilled modification work appreciated.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas might not have been visibly terrified, but it was a sham. A total sham. The thinnest sham that ever wow'd.
> 
> It was a good thing that his visor made it hard for anyone to see where he was looking or staring. In order to escape the all-seeing optic, Tarantulas' gaze was intently following the hand that was petting the deployer. (He should ask about that later - but not now, not now, focus.)
> 
> "I -" he choked. Say something. Stop twiddling your claws and pay attention.
> 
> "...It's. Hyeh. It's not a _craft_. That makes the pursuit of scientific knowledge sound like wood-whittling. There's certainly an art to some of it, but it's far more than deftness of hand. Or claw, as it were." He held up the case in point, then let it drop back to its partner to clutch nervously. "You of all people would know this, I'm sure."
> 
> Trust Tarantulas to take a compliment the wrong way.

Prowl

> «Not particularly. Just curious.»
> 
> And with his curiosity satisfied, he settled back to listen. Tarantulas didn't _immediately_ make a complete fool of himself. A good start.

Shockwave

> Shockwave's helm inclines fractionally. Some might think it foolish, to question or correct the praise of an idol who isn't known to be effusive. Fortunately, he's not known for jealous defense of his ego, either.
> 
> "Suit yourself. But I have observed those who _pursue_ knowledge without finesse. Nor any notion of what to do, once it is within their grasp." So many amateurs might have been slipshod, made a mess instead of a mech. Tarantulas had cared. Slaved. Paid attention to veracity of detail. People don't turn themselves inside-out _just_ because science says they can. They do it because there's something deeper they wish to be. And once you make yourself a masterpiece, comparisons to art become difficult to avoid.
> 
> _Swivel_ , goes that inner lens. Focusing briefly upon the lifted claw, not that Tarantulas is daring to look up.
> 
> "I have been told that you are an admirer of my alternate."

Tarantulas

> Primus, Tarantulas wished there were some way he could read Shockwave's emotions. A bit hypocritical, considering his own general lack of face, but at least his visor responded animatedly enough.
> 
> "Admittedly I've been at a loss as to how to employ my sliver of knowledge at times, but I've... had a muse or two to assist in the process." A sidelong glance at Prowl, then he refocused. "I - yes, I _was_. My native Shockwave is currently presumed deceased, so... Well, his work lives on after him in any case."
> 
> ...Oh crap. Could that have been a faux pas? Were you not supposed to mention dead alternates during introductions? That _did_ sound kind of rude.

Prowl

> _Poker face._ Honestly, Tarantulas, pulling out the pet names in public?

Soundwave

> A muse or two? Hmm. Who was the other one? Or did Tarantulas mean the native Prowl and this one? Something to investigate.

Shockwave

> Perhaps such talk might offend those with thinner skins. Shockwave is quite aware that his alternates are not himself-- and frankly, thinks there is likely a reason why _he's_ online when they are not.
> 
> A noncommittal _hm_ follows. Awareness of just how much the newcomer wishes Prowl would run into his many-limbed embrace is _useful_ , but not what he's here to discuss. "And what do you expect of me? My work differs from his in several significant respects."

Tarantulas

> Either Shockwave was better at reading visors than Tarantulas thought, or Tarantulas was just being _painfully_ obvious about his sideways glance. Not that he wouldn't have displayed the same sentiment toward Prowl in a million other ways throughout the conversation anyway, but still.
> 
> "Expect of you? Oh nono, I don't _expect_ anything, it's more a matter of curious request. Finding out exactly what those differences are and elaborating on them, maybe. I'm hardly specialized, and more than eager to delve into whatever topics you're interested in." ...Huh. This whole talking business was getting a little easier. "So, I suppose the aim is general inquiry - any past projects you'd be willing to discuss, thoughts, theories, questions you might have for me, and if I may have the privilege, possibly even insight into your present projects, if...?
> 
> "O-of course, this doesn't have to happen now, it's just what's coming to mind at the moment."

Shockwave

> In truth, it's neither. Soundwave had debriefed him when the research notes were delivered-- and that conversation included a warning about messy entanglements and romantic preoccupation. Not difficult to take that information, Tarantulas' barely-concealed double-entendres, and his own ability to perceive beyond the visible light spectrum-- then cobble together a viable hypothesis.
> 
> "I am willing to participate in an equitable exchange of information." Code-language for _tell me everything you know, spide_. Testing the known definitions of Cybertronian life interests him more than his lax exterior lets on.
> 
> "...Still." His helm shifts, allowing Tarantulas a reprieve from the spotlight as he centers his ally within its view. "I question the wisdom of conducting detailed discussions within an unsecured room, on a foreign vessel." _In present company._
> 
> They could simply trade frequencies, then communicate anything sensitive over a secure channel. But if anyone would be able to determine whether their immediate surroundings can be trusted, it would be Soundwave.

Soundwave

> Soundwave met the ship's Red Alert a few times during early visits and ran afoul of his timeline's match several times during the war. He knew damn well this ship was no more a safe place for spoken conversations than his own home - and, yes, there was Shockwave and Prowl's mutual dislike to take into consideration as well.
> 
> He shook his helm _no_.
> 
> (txt): Recommended subjects: Knowledge available to general public now, soon.
> 
> Out loud while still in their current situation. If Tarantulas wanted to share details with a beloved idol over comm or in a laboratory, who was Soundwave to deprive his ally of a useful source of information? As long as neither one of them handed out his personal secrets or led the other down an unforgivable path...

Tarantulas

> Oh, just listen to that - _equitable exchange_. It almost made it sound like Shockwave and Tarantulas were on the same level, a thought that nearly brought tears to Tarantulas' unseen optics.
> 
> "Ah - I wasn't anticipating going into detail, not here, not now, at least. Merely making your acquaintance is plenty, and anything else is - well, it's surely welcomed, but it's icing on the cake." ...Oh Primus. Was that too gushy? It was, wasn't it.
> 
> Hurriedly he went on. "I wouldn't mind discussion via comm in any case, or arranging for a later meeting, or relocation, or - whatever suits you best. Besides, I know I'll make a complete fool of myself here without my notes, depending on where the topic of conversation trends."

Shockwave

> ‘Almost.’ Tarantulas has accomplished something of interest-- and is one of the few scientific minds around who might actually be willing to embrace a similar viewpoint on monsters, mores, and morality. But true parity between them remains to be established, and certainly won’t occur so long as the arachnid continues to prostrate himself before a Shockwave-shaped pedestal.
> 
> Anyway, if a bit of biographical information and a conversation he’d _wanted_ to conduct will get his questions answered in return, then it’s no real loss.
> 
> Shockwave’s free hand lifts, cutting off Tarantulas’ eager prattle. The motion is economical, not irritated. There’s just no need to use _forty_ words when one’s point has been communicated within the first ten.
> 
> “Comms utilized at a later date shall suffice for more in-depth matters.”
> 
> “For now: know that I supervised the majority of Decepticon wartime initiatives, but prefer to specialize in biological fields. Genetic manipulation, unusual alt mode reconfigurations. The gestalt project. Mnemosurgical aids. More recently, the restoration of Cybertron’s ecosystem.”
> 
> “It is the partially-organic nature of your advancements which intrigue me. I have some experience with the techno-organics native to my timeline, and have modified individuals to possess _inorganic_ bestial forms--” (whether they agree to the procedure or not.)
> 
> “--But you, of course, are neither.”

Tarantulas

> Thank you so, so much for cutting Tarantulas off, Shockwave. His ability to take ten words and turn them into forty could be a talent in the right situation, but this moment wasn't it, and he knew it full well. Embarrassment and relief flooded through him in equal parts.
> 
> "No, indeed I'm not - I'm _ridiculously_ glad to be identified properly for once, you haven't any idea how many times I've been labeled a techno-organic or beastformer, it's - well. I'd be more than open to sharing what I can, especially since I'm still tweaking the details." You'd think he'd've figured out all the minutia before altering his own body with the tech, but then again, this was Tarantulas.
> 
> "I - in terms of what I've previously dabbled in, our realms of research and development overlap significantly, I'd think. My initial work was shaped by wartime necessity, but I've since branched out into, let's see... both Cybertronian and alien biology, alternative energy sources, multiversally applicable tech... But anything that falls under the hard sciences has been fair game, really. I could link my published works and give project summaries for a better overview, there's plenty I'm forgetting."
> 
> That was about as specific as Tarantulas was going to get at the moment - a consequence both of scatterbrainedness and sudden awareness that the two silent parties in the room might not have any idea what he'd _actually_ been up to prior to now-ish. Freely giving away previously-unknown intel seemed a litte foolish, even in the face of wanting to impress his idol. Surely Shockwave would understand.
> 
> "Oh - probably a strange question, but do you have any scientific associates? Or do you prefer to work alone? I noticed you said that you 'supervised' wartime initiatives, that's all."

Soundwave

> Don't feel safe just yet, Tarantulas. At least one of the two silent parties in the room might find out regardless of when you do your explaining.

Shockwave

> “Of course you are neither,” Shockwave agrees flatly, as if the conclusion must be completely obvious to anyone with half a processor. “You possess qualities belonging to neither category.”
> 
> As for the rest-- well, a tweak or two never hurt anybody. Perfection is a _process_ , not a static and achievable state of being.
> 
> “In due time. I believe that this overlap in focus could be mutually beneficial.” Ever the diligent researcher-- especially when it comes to the qualifications of potential associates-- he fully expects to gain access to Tarantulas’ materials at some, more convenient point in the future. It’s not an altogether one-sided expectation. The volume of lectures and published material _Shockwave_ could be convinced to provide in return is staggering, even after combing through to select only those which are non-confidential.
> 
> Amusing, to think that he might obtain access to a part of this heavily-vetted mech’s past before his ‘inspector’ of an ally does. Though, as Soundwave’s own thoughts were quick to note, he’ll most definitely be passing information along when appropriate. Scientists guard their secrets with slightly less jealousy than spymasters-- or, at least, this one does.
> 
> “I had colleagues and peers. Then, staff and subordinates. Now, I have subjects.” A beat of silence, as one antenna twitches in the direction he knows Soundwave is standing. “...And allies.”

Tarantulas

> Well, naturally that would mean Shockwave considers Prowl to have less than half a processor, considering the conversation Tarantulas had had with him. Just don’t speak your opinion aloud, Shockwave.
> 
> Also, “staggering” would be an understatement, considering how much longer Shockwave’s been alive than Tarantulas – but the spider scientist isn’t aware of that just yet.
> 
> “I’ll make sure to keep in mind our symmetric differences as well, though. I’m sure there’s oceans of unrelated information you’d be able to contribute.” Oceans that Tarantulas was _insanely_ thirsty for.
> 
> Now Tarantulas wasn’t the only one who could be accused of using oblique pet names in public – he could deduce that much, although not the extent and implications. “Your current situation seems the most similar to mine then, hyeh. Hopefully you’re not dissatisfied with the downgrade.
> 
> “I-in any case, I’d be honored if you allowed me the opportunity to prove my worth as – well, as a colleague of sorts.”

Shockwave

> To the contrary. Prowl almost certainly possesses a full processor; it’s the degree to which it’s _used properly_ that leaves Shockwave unconvinced.
> 
> In any case, he wouldn’t be so crass-- or short-sighted-- to speak ill of Prowl out loud. Not when three out of the four mecha present would take offense at his opinions, and not when Tarantulas remains so valuable, his affection for the Autobot so... _ripe_ for gentle exploitation.
> 
> “I’m sure,” he echoes, less a pleasantry and more a personal mission statement. Easy confidence was not easily _earned_ , but it’s proven almost as useful as the other, more obvious perks that accompany age and a processor capable of outpacing the majority of their species.
> 
> Pet names? No pet names here. Only allies! If ‘ally’ has accumulated additional meaning as time goes on, well. That’s strictly contextual. Credit him for selecting a term that flies beneath most social radar-- or rather, credit his formality and stubbornness with causing him to cling to the word throughout an evolving relationship. 'Selecting' overestimates just how much he'd hoped-- or planned-- ahead.
> 
> “An assistant or two would not be amiss...” Something faintly wistful creeps into that synthetic baritone, his helm tilting slightly to contemplate the empty space above. “...but I have grown accustomed to working alone, and have scaled my expectations accordingly.” In the laboratory, at least.
> 
> The moment passes, and his attention is returned to the Chimeracon with a curt nod.
> 
> “Consider our future interactions your 'opportunity.'”

Tarantulas

> The use of restrained relationship terminology really showed the difference between Shockwave and Tarantulas – Shockwave was picky about terminology because it held significant weight and showed a steady progression, whereas Tarantulas would adopt and drop labels at the drop of a hat as it suited him.
> 
> Hmm… Tarantulas briefly contemplated what it would be like to serve as Shockwave’s assistant, but the thought of not fully pursuing his own work spoiled his interest. Besides, he was used to working alone as well – being around Shockwave that much would really throw him for a loop.
> 
> “I’m sure you have robotic assistants for menial work, at least? And you do know you could easily acquire an assistant if you so wished, any sane and savvy mech would leap at the chance.” Not actually. Most weren’t interested in working with someone so… _Shockwave-y_.
> 
> A glowing nod from Tarantulas, and two claws rubbing together just a bit. “Duly noted. I’ll be sure to give my all.” A pleased squint of his visor, but a moment later he added: “ _Future_ , though. I’m certain you have much to attend to at the moment – don’t let me keep you from your work.”

Shockwave

> It's just as well-- when musing about having an extra pair of hands around the facility, Shockwave hadn't meant Tarantulas. Direct collaboration is not out of the picture, by any means, but he’s learned more than a few lessons over his time spent in command of the entire Decepticon scientific initiative.
> 
> Lesson number one: too many auteurs in the lab can spoil the broth.
> 
> “Yes. Drones for cleaning, maintenance, and the like.” He’d be spending far too much of his days simply trying to keep the lab running properly, if that weren’t the case.
> 
> His auxiliary antennae twitch in amusement at some private joke, servo shifting to scratch Chimera gently between its ears.
> 
> “Qualified candidates are in shorter supply, these days. Let alone ones that are both savvy and sane.” The arachnid’s glowing endorsement notwithstanding... any noncombatant who wasn’t dead, hadn’t jumped ship long ago and never looked back, and didn’t run screaming at the name _Shockwave_ (or his expectations regarding one’s work ethic) was a rare individual indeed.
> 
> Taking that last comment as a signal that their conversation was nearing its close, he nods slowly. “Very well. I look forward to continuing our discourse under more convenient circumstances.”

Tarantulas

> Auteur. _Auteur_. Again, if only Tarantulas could read Shockwave’s mind.
> 
> “Oh, they’re certainly out there. Maybe not in your current universe, but poking around elsewhere might prove fruitful – if you so choose, of course. But I digress.”
> 
> Indeed, the meeting was wrapping up, a bittersweet thought for Tarantulas. At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself – well, as far as he could tell. “As do I, as do I.” A glance at Prowl, then Soundwave, then Prowl again. Who should he take his cues from now…?
> 
> “Ah! My comm.” Tarantulas suddenly scrambled to produce a business chip out of what seemed to be thin air and offered it to Shockwave, clawtips using unusually delicate pressure on the chip. “Feel free to use whichever frequency you like, I’ll receive them the same no matter the urgency or security you choose.”

Shockwave

> If Tarantulas could read Shockwave’s mind, he’d find as much to feel indignant about as he would reasons to go stuttery and starry-eyed. Fortunately, there’s only one telepath present.
> 
> With a final pat to Chimera, he stoops to gently deposit the minicon on its pedes, freeing his hands to accept the offered business chit. Funny. He hasn’t seen these in practice in a dog’s age-- no one needs to workshop their resume in the great Decepticon war machine, with half of their number built into that world, besides.
> 
> It’s… quaint. Tarantulas really _is_ a neutral who’s spent the past few centuries literally living under a rock. And Shockwave’s just enough of an old-timer to appreciate the gesture, as evidenced by his own recent escapades into the realm of the questionably romantic.
> 
> “Understood.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas _might_ have been living under a rock, but how else was he supposed to communicate his information to Shockwave? A short-range comm ping? That seemed _incredibly_ informal for such a personally momentous occasion.
> 
> Tarantulas went back to nervously holding his claws at his chest, although his visor was clearly squinted with some sort of positive emotion. “U-until then.” Some more glances, but Tarantulas would be on his way if there was nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cut off since we never really got around to finishing it, but suffice to say that everyone goes their separate ways peacefully enough.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep deprivation + incompatible types of humor = explosive results.

Prowl

> Tarantulas isn't at the documentary viewing tonight. Comm ping?

Tarantulas

> After a moment, a return comm ping. Had it been anyone other than Prowl, Tarantulas would have left it at that, but…
> 
> «I - I’m alive, fear not. …I mean - hello. And goodnight, probably.»

Prowl

> «… Did you sleep through the evening?»

Tarantulas

> «…No, but I _should_  have.» Some vague shuffling and clinking in the background.
> 
> «Did I - did I miss anything? You’ll probably have to tell me again later, I’m not going to remember right now… but maybe the initial input’ll prime my systems for accepting the data later, who knows. Brain modules are _strange_.»

Prowl

> «Nothing important. A few new Decepticons were introduced in the documentaries—a medic, a nurse, and an exotic game hunter. Nothing of ongoing significance happened.» Besides violent mind invasion, but he’s not describing _that_  to Tarantulas. Soundwave was right, it was a good thing he wasn’t here this week.
> 
> «… Why _didn’t_  you come?»

Tarantulas

> «Ooh, but meeting new mechs is _always_ interesting - do you have the recordings like you did previously? I wouldn’t mind catching up for next time.» Tarantulas is gonna hear about CPP eventually, Prowl, no use trying to hide it from him.
> 
> A weary giggle. «I had a dozen… no, a _few_ dozen other things to attend to. Still do. That’s what happens when I make To Do lists, apparently. Needy neglected projects and tasks crawl out of the woodwork like cockroaches and termites. It’s… hardly pleasant.»

Prowl

> «I don’t. I can get them.» He’s going to leave out the episode with the patch. He doesn’t care if it is likely Tarantulas is going to find out, Prowl’s not going to be the one to make it happen.
> 
> «Mm. Did you make progress, at least?»

Tarantulas

> «Much appreciated.» If Tarantulas was going to put in the effort to appear at these movie nights, he sure as heck was gonna prepare himself as best he could. Which meant looking into the glaring absence of a chunk of the documentary once he arrived at that point.
> 
> More weary giggling - it was obvious what the answer was before he spoke. «Maybe. No. Who knows. One step forward, two steps back, that sort of thing. Nothing’s exploded yet, but I don’t trust it not to while I recharge…» More unidentifiable noises.

Prowl

> The missing episode was the last one of the night, so, good news for Prowl, Tarantulas would have no way to know something was missing until next movie night. Bad news for Prowl, that episode ended on a cliffhanger and the next episode directly followed it, so it would quickly be obvious that one was left out.
> 
> «Maybe you shouldn’t work on more than one project at a time that’s likely to explode.»

Tarantulas

> «But I can’t _not_. The frogs are long-overdue for an upgrade and I’m running low on liquid obtenteum, and that’s just _two_  of them, see? It’s times like these I wish I had a few alternates on hand, but then again, I _really really_  don’t.»

Prowl

> «The whats?» Why does he have exploding frogs? «Fuel is more imperative than… upgrading frogs. You can pause your other explosive activities until that one is done.»

Tarantulas

> You’ll see eventually, Prowl.
> 
> «Nonono. No, I can’t do that.» Some scraping and a clank of metal on metal. «Besides, I’ve already started, and I’m not a _quitter_. Are you a _quitter_ , Prowl?»

Prowl

> «If the alternative to quitting is juggling too many projects to remember, and risking passing out mid-project and blowing myself up, then yes. I am absolutely a quitter. Better a live quitter than a stubborn corpse.
> 
> «Anyway, you won’t be a quitter. You’ll be a pause-to-finish-later…-er.»

Tarantulas

> «That sounds too _logical_ , why would I do _that_. I cut down on prefrontal module function for the night for the specific purpose of stifling rational thought, it was getting in the way of creativity and productivity.»
> 
> A long, long pause.
> 
> «…I didn’t. I was joking. _Please_ oh please tell me you didn’t believe that.» 

Prowl

> «… For a moment, I had my doubts. That sounds like something you would do.»

Tarantulas

> A groan. «I don’t know whether to be more disappointed in _you_  or in _myself_.»

Prowl

> «You have to admit, it _does_ sound like something you’d do.»

Tarantulas

> «I - I might be guilty of having shut down _other_  modules, but not _that_  one. I need it for science. For hypothesis evaluation and crisis assessment.
> 
> «…That’s what the high grade obtenteum did, I bet you _anything_. Rerouted prefrontal commands to… somewhere…» Shuffle whir click click - now Tarantulas had a new project to add to his To Do list.

Prowl

> «Tarantulas—Tarantulas, no. Don’t. Just—make a note and set it aside for later. Don’t get started on that. You need to recharge.»

Tarantulas

> A pitiful whine came across the line, long and drawn-out but eventually petering off. It was obvious Tarantulas was still distracted with whatever he’d _already_ started on.
> 
> «… _As you wish_. But you have to promise to wake me up after four hours.»

Prowl

> «No. Set your own alarm.»

Tarantulas

> «But they don’t _work_  when I’m sleep-deprived. My processor _deletes_ them while I’m recharging, probably something to do with self-preservation coding, _but I can never find the source to edit it_.»

Prowl

> «Set an external alarm. Why do you need to be up in four hours, anyway?»

Tarantulas

> « _You’re_ my alarm, don’t you see? You’re the most optimal option, statistically most likely to effectively wake me up and keep me awake.
> 
> «And four hours is both sufficient and necessary. Believe me, it was a matter of tortuous trial and error trying to figure that out.»

Prowl

> «I’m not an alarm clock, I’m a person with better things to do. _I’m_ going to be asleep in four hours. I’m not going to wake myself up just to wake you up. Why don’t you code up an A.I. alarm clock with my voice?» He realized what he’d said. «Dammit— _not right now._ After you’ve rested.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas let the thought roll around in his mind for a moment before replying.
> 
> «It wouldn’t be as effective anyway, I haven’t been able to program an AI sophisticated enough to convince me it wasn’t AI - which, I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or an insult to myself, hyeh. In any case it doesn’t have the psychological impact that having you wake me up personally would have - does that make sense? It probably doesn’t.
> 
> «…In other words, _pleeeease_ …?»

Prowl

> «It doesn’t have to be convincable. It just has to be obnoxious, persistent, and impossible to turn off until you’re well and truly awake.
> 
> «Why is your sleep more important than my sleep?»

Tarantulas

> «Oh! Oh. You’ll be asleep?» Tarantulas had totally missed that part. «That changes the equation, I’m not _that_  impolite. I’ll just stay up until you’re awake, it’s of no consequence.»

Prowl

> «I sleep for _fourteen hours,_ Tarantulas. You need sleep _now._ And regardless, I don’t want to be your alarm clock.»

Tarantulas

> «…I can microsleep?»

Prowl

> «I’m not going to be your alarm.»

Tarantulas

> «…You’re responsible for the fire damage, then. Hmph.»

Prowl

> « _I_ am not responsible for _your_ mistakes. You started too many projects and poorly scheduled them. That’s not my fault. Set an external alarm.»

Tarantulas

> «About _half_ of these projects are your spawn, but I - slag it all. You’re not budging, are you. I guess I’ll go recharge in the bunker just in case.»

Prowl

> «I didn’t ask you to do them. I didn’t tell you to do them. _You_ decided to do them. I’m not responsible for any accidental inspiration I induce, because you’re an intelligent sapient being with the free will to choose to act or not act on whatever I inspire. Go shut down your unstable projects before you sleep.»

Tarantulas

> Half-sparked grumbles - Tarantulas couldn’t muster the mental strength to argue against sound logic. «I can’t neutralize the reaction once it’s activated without wasting an _obscene_ amount of ore, so I’m willing to risk the possibility I’ll be the orchestrator of my own demise.» He won’t mention what the percentage chance that is. Prowl _definitely_  wouldn’t approve.

Prowl

> Why. Whyyy.
> 
> «… How long is it going to take to finish the process.»

Tarantulas

> «About five and a half hours.» Too long to delay a nap for at this point, that’s for sure.

Prowl

> «Does it _need_ to be monitored at all times? Can you set up some way for it to wake you up with an alarm if something goes wrong?»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, it doesn’t require an _alarm_ to know something’s wrong - it’s its own alarm - and it wouldn’t matter anyway since once the reaction gets off-track it’s a matter of seconds before something explodes.» Some absentminded humming. «It’s a _very_ pretty catastrophe, though.»

Prowl

> «Tarantulas, _why the hell_ did you start brewing a substance that might explode when you knew you didn’t have time to finish before you needed sleep?»

Tarantulas

> «Becaaaauseeee I… well…» He trailed off, the following silence only punctuated by some more clinks and scraping.
> 
> When he spoke again, his voice was strangely meek. «…What was the question again?»

Prowl

> «Why did you start a project that might explode while you’re asleep.»

Tarantulas

> « _Oh_. That.» Thunk. «Because it needs to get done, and it has a minimal chance of _actually_  exploding, and I didn’t know when I was going to recharge. And in retrospect I may have been _slightly_  swayed by the gambler’s fallacy but not enough to tip the probability more than half a percent.»

Prowl

> «… What _is_ the probability?» Prowl will be the judge of whether it’s too high or not.

Tarantulas

> «That’s for me to know and for you to find out~» And yes, you can hear the tilde in his speech, it’s undeniable. «And by “find out” I mean “wait and see if you hear back from me in four hours.” Or fourteen. It’s fourteen, right?»

Prowl

> «Tarantulas, _what is the probability._ »

Tarantulas

> «…2.3% at any given instant with a linear increase of 0.25 to 0.5% between now and completion.»

Prowl

> «So, approximately one in every forty times you create obtenteum, it’s likely to explode and destroy everything in the vicinity. And you think that’s _acceptable?!_ Not just in general, but _inside your own home_ where it could _kill you?_ I would _never_ have accepted a project from you with a 2.3-to-2.8% chance of malfunction every time it’s used, much less catastrophic lab-destroying life-ending failure. When did your standards for safety and your own survival get so low?»

Tarantulas

> Everything was silent for a moment after Prowl’s outburst. Then small snippets of data notes and cited research pinged Prowl in neat succession.
> 
>   * «r = 7.8 m, DV = 8100 m/s, R.E. = 1.54, peak = 5273.15 K»
>   * «was perfect. Flames contained in 27 s, smoke cleared in ~300 s, only 0.3% ore loss, 5.2% product loss, and one containment kit expended. Work on making the kit contents more accessible and less costly, but otherwise this was a success of a failure» 
>   * «with projected avg instance 0.01438% unless extraneous factors» 
>   * A list of “extraneous factors” that applied to the current situation.
>   * A graph of the logarithmic-like function of percentage chance of error confirming the projected average with the altered average overlaid.
>   * «material and thickness sufficient to contain R.E. < 2.5 with 0% failure» 
>   * Pre-, mid-, and post-explosion images of damage. 
>   * «while pre and post are 99.98% identical, and the remaining damage is only superficial»
>   * «centrium exoskeleton in place of radioactive suit and PPE considering its increased effectiveness against all» 
> 

> 
> OK, so it was clear now that Tarantulas had been exaggerating the situation a little, but he was _tired_ , and he’d been  _babbling_ , and now he just wanted Prowl to leave him be. He’d keep scouring his notes and shooting hopefully-reassuring text bullets in Prowl’s direction until he said something or told him to stop.

Prowl

> «… If you have a shield to contain explosions, why did you say it will kill you if it explodes,» Prowl asked. «No, don’t answer that—it’s because you wanted to emotionally manipulate me into serving as your personal wake up call service. Go to sleep.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re - you’re misinterpreting the data,» Tarantulas said, a hint of desperation in his voice. That was _not_  what he was intending. «Not a shield per se, no emotional manipulation, no wake up call. I’m just _exhausted_  and you’re overly tense and I’m going to go recharge now.»

Prowl

> Then what the hell was the “containment kit” supposed to be, if not some kind of shield.
> 
> «Fine. Go to sleep.» Prowl hoped Tarantulas’s obtenteum batch exploded in his sleep. ~~No he didn’t, he takes that back. And anyway, if it did, Tarantulas would find a way to blame Prowl for it.~~

Tarantulas

> Think outside the box, Prowl. A shield would do the job, but that sacrifices whatever’s contained inside it without prejudice.
> 
> «I - fine then. I’ll contact you… sometime.» No use annoying Prowl with promises of comm’ing in four or fourteen hours. 

Prowl

> He’s too annoyed/cranky to be fascinated by the intricacies of whatever Tarantulas invented right now.
> 
> «Take your time.»

Tarantulas

> Mild burn, first degree.
> 
> A pause, then a click and a ping goodbye.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awkward questions; flirtatious debate; Constructicon intervention; real talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RP meme prompt: ask a question you've been too embarrassed to voice.

Tarantulas

> «Did you - err. Your native Mesothulas, was he - were the two of you - I mean…
> 
> «…Nevermind. _ ~~Damnit~~_.»

Prowl

> «I thought the point of this exercise was to ask an embarrassing question, Tarantulas. Not to start one and then stop because you’re embarrassed.»

Tarantulas

> « _I’m not embarrassed_. I just don’t know how to - how to ask, how to word what I’m attempting to inquire.» Yes. That was totally it.
> 
> Take two. «…Your Mesothulas. What was the nature of your relationship with him, at its pinnacle?»

Prowl

> Prowl knows what Tarantulas is asking. «Patron and inventor.» He’s going to act like he doesn’t until Tarantulas makes it explicit.

Tarantulas

> Prowl _thinks_  he knows what Tarantulas is asking, but the thing is that Tarantulas himself doesn’t know how much he wants to ask, so neither of them really know what’s going on in the first place.
> 
> «…But of course. That _completely_ explains your reaction to seeing my original optics - unless there’s some other reason you were staring, I suppose I could be missing something.»

Prowl

> Prowl was mildly surprised Tarantulas had the guts to bring that up. He’d overgeneralized his assumptions about how Tarantulas would react to subjects bordering around sexual matters. Kissing, apparently, was fair game.
> 
> « _You_ were the one who leaned in, Tarantulas. Keep that in mind.»

Tarantulas

> Kissing was fair game when there were a dozen other more uncomfortable subjects to dance around. Everything’s relative.
> 
> «For a _bunt_. A bunt.» Exasperated face-rubbing - he wasn’t actually lying about that one. «…But I asked about Mesothulas, not about _me_. You weren’t merely a creative working team.»

Prowl

> «… I severely misread that situation.»
> 
> Hold on, Prowl needs a moment to wallow in embarrassment before he can continue.
> 
> «I see. We weren’t, were we? In that case, I shall defer to your superior expertise on the subject.»

Tarantulas

> Good, Prowl finally gets a turn to feel embarrassed. Tarantulas was sick of being the only one suffering.
> 
> «Not an egregious mistake, rest assured.» At least in Tarantulas’ opinion.
> 
> «…I’m not wrong, seeing as you’ve not denied the statement. Ought I to continue making assertions and gauging your reaction or lack thereof, or would you like to say something for yourself instead?» There was definitely a humorous tone to the comm, hopefully something Prowl would pick up on.

Prowl

> «Why bother confirming or denying anything when you’re so confident in your own assertions? Please, do go on. Judging by your behavior, you know more about my business than I do.» In contrast, Prowl’s tone is just flat. Tarantulas is welcome to interpret it in any way he so pleases.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s tone is _always_  flat. It doesn’t make any difference to Tarantulas, he’ll read into it what he wants to anyway.
> 
> «I’m not used to this level of snark from you, Prowl.» A moment’s thought, then: «…Aha, I see. It’s your version of the facetiousness mechanism.»

Prowl

> «I’m not used to this level of presumption from you. I suppose you usually leave it unspoken.» And the snark train chugs on. «The “facetiousness mechanism.” Is that some hitherto-unknown processor component?»

Tarantulas

> «They’re not _presumptions_ , they’re fairly solid conclusions drawn from present evidence. And it’s not hitherto-unknown, _you_  were the one who pointed it out, if I recall correctly. In any case, I’m implying you’re employing sassiness as a defense/avoidance strategy.»

Prowl

> «I don’t remember that.» And didn’t feel like digging it up. «Was it when we talked about a pickiness continuum?» Tarantulas had made some mention of inventing a facetiousness signal.
> 
> «You’re using armchair psychology to support your own biases. If I confirmed your accusation, you would interpret it—well—as a confirmation. If I denied your accusation, you would interpret it as a defensive lie to save face, and would again take it as a confirmation. If I neither confirmed nor denied your accusation, you would interpret it as dodging the question due to embarrassment at the truth, and take it as a confirmation. If I hung up and gave you no answer, you would interpret that as fear and embarrassment of being found out, and take it as a confirmation. No matter what action I take, you will interpret it as a confirmation that your accusation is true. At least, if I’m sarcastic, I can amuse myself in the process.»

Tarantulas

> «Possibly. It’s come up multiple times.» By “it’s come up” he means “you’ve called me out for it,” but if Prowl didn’t recall the details, Tarantulas wasn’t going to fret about it.
> 
> «Hmph. False. If you denied or avoided my accusation, I’d interpret it as grounds for further inquiry. I’m not about to grant truthhood unless p ≤ 0.05 at the very least, which hasn’t occurred thus far. The null hypothesis that you and Mesothulas _weren’t_  somehow emotionally involved comes close though, which is why I asserted the alternative hypothesis.»

Prowl

> «Facetiousness in general, yes. I don’t recall mentioning a “facetiousness mechanism.“» He’s focused on the exact phrase, not the general subject matter. He knows they’ve discussed facetiousness before.
> 
> «And right now, what _is_ the p-value, if you don’t mind my asking? Or would it disrupt your experiment too much if your test subject had a glance at the data.»

Tarantulas

> «No, I - maybe “mechanism” was a concoction of my own, I’ve no idea. Are you going to ask me to elaborate on it then? Because that would only further prove my point.
> 
> «…Yes. That.» And the fact that Tarantulas _wasn’t_  Prowl and didn’t actually have measurable statistics running in his processor at all times. Thanks for calling his bluff and then giving him an out.

Prowl

> «… Is “acknowledge that you were being facetious and then go on to ask you to facetiously expand upon this ‘facetiousness mechanism’ proposal” an option?»
> 
> You could have made up a number, Tarantulas. 83% of all statistics are made up on the spot. «Hm. Unfortunate. But I’ll be interested to see the resultant research paper.»

Tarantulas

> Quiet grumbling from Tarantulas. This conversation was _definitely_  not going the way he’d wanted, even if it _was_  providing him a bit of insight into another side of Prowl.
> 
> «No, no it’s not, seeing as it’s a ridiculous red herring and I’m not playing your enigmatic games. I was merely asking you a question, and you gave me an obvious response despite the fact you knew what I was getting at something else _entirely_.
> 
> «…And there _won’t_ be any research paper. Maybe. Not unless I come to some conclusion, which we don’t seem to be on the track of doing.»

Prowl

> «It’s not a red herring. A red herring implies I’m attempting to distract you. _You_  distracted _me_  with the proposed mechanism. We’ve done everything from comparing the multiverse to a butterfly to theorizing on the aforementioned pickiness continuum, how did you _not_  think proposing a mechanism that controls facetiousness would be distracting?» Honestly, at this point it’s 40% distraction and 60% Prowl suddenly being uncomfortably eager for yet another round of Pseudo-Intellectual Nonsense.
> 
> «No games, Tarantulas. You asked me a straightforward fact-based question, I gave you a straightforward fact-based answer. You were dissatisfied with the fact that I’d answered the question you asked instead of whatever question you _meant_  to ask, and you started making assertions about your own assumptions—at which point I didn’t need to be an active participant in the conversation anymore, because you weren’t asking me questions, you were just telling me what you think.
> 
> «If your research paper isn’t reaching a conclusion, perhaps it’s because you didn’t complete your tests. Instead, you got one question into your survey, tossed aside the survey, started telling your test subject about your hypothesis, and then complained that he didn’t go on to answer the other survey questions you didn’t ask.»

Tarantulas

> «Why is it _my_  responsibility to make sure you’re not distracted? Goodness, you’d think such a task would entail _you_  being the one responsible.
> 
> «… _Forgive_ me for not being clearer earlier, but I was making the assertion in order to lead you into elaborating on your answer in a manner with which I would be satisfied. Next time I ought to be more straightforward - but you’ve certainly realized by now that it’s not exactly my modus operandi. And you yourself could stand to be a little less reticent. I don’t think it’s _unfair_  of me to be asking questions about your relationship with my alternate, seeing as it does have an impact on me.»
> 
> You’ll just have to wait on hearing about the facetiousness mechanism, Prowl. Sounds like Tarantulas is doing his best not to get sidetracked on this one.

Prowl

> «It’s not your responsibility. But it means that it’s inaccurate and unjust of you to suggest that I was making a deliberate effort to distract you.
> 
> «Well, obviously, it didn’t lead me to elaborate. I am not easily led. I answer the questions I am asked, in the manner in which they are asked.
> 
> «And I will be as reticent as I care to be when answering questions about _my own life_. The fact that there is a possibility that factoids from my past might possibly affect your life does not mean that those factoids automatically become your business. How many things do I not know about you that would change how I see you but that are also none of my business, Tarantulas?»
> 
> Isn’t he? Because Prowl think he sounds _very_  sidetracked. Prowl’s even switched tactics and is trying to lure him back toward asking a direct question, and he _still_  isn’t. This has actually proven to be a very practical demonstration of why Tarantulas’s modus operandi is ineffective, even when it’s used against him.

Tarantulas

> «They - the factoids _are_  my business, whether you’re interested in sharing them with me or not. You can’t blame me for being curious, just as I wouldn’t blame you for asking _me_  similar questions.» Oh. Bad. Don’t suggest Prowl ask about _his_  relationship with _his_  Prowl. Damnit, but it was already said.
> 
> No one ever claimed Tarantulas’ MO was effective, or that he _wasn’t_  actually sidetracked. But he’s trying. He’s trying his gosh darn best.

Prowl

> A long, weary sigh. All right, we’ll play that way.
> 
> «Tarantulas. Was the nature of your relationship with my alternate romantic.»
> 
> There. You see? Very simple.

Tarantulas

> Suffocating oneself in one’s unrequited love doesn’t count as an actual romantic relationship, does it? 
> 
> «… _No_. Which is precisely why I brought the topic up. …Was yours?»

Prowl

> «No. It wasn’t.»
> 
> Viciously strangling, chaining up, and burying alive one’s love, rather than daring to face the possibility that it might be requited, doesn’t count as an actual romantic relationship either.
> 
> «That was a very simple question and you could have saved us both a great deal of time by asking it that way from the outset. Directness of language is not a flaw.»

Tarantulas

> Huh. Hmm. Tarantulas would have to let that simmer for a while while he worked out the implications. He wasn’t sure whether their mutual lack of alternate romantic relationship was a good thing or not yet.
> 
> «Directness of language wasn’t suitable for what I was attempting to put into words. That was a _part_  of it, but… Maybe the concept isn’t worth translating. The answer would doubtless be as cryptic as the question.»
> 
> Tarantulas held his vents for a moment, then: «I might as well ask whether or not there was a sexual component to your relationship with my alternate, while we’re at it.» Another piece of the puzzle, one that Tarantulas defeatedly realized he had to suck it up and ask already.

Prowl

> «I have never in my life encountered a situation in which directness of language is not suitable, except when talking to individuals who are morally offended by direct language. I am not one such individual.»
> 
> Of course he might as well. «Yes. Look—we’re making actual progress now. Direct questions yield actual results. We could have gotten to this point much earlier if you’d simply asked the questions you’d intended to ask at the very outset, instead of asking an insufficiently precise question and then criticizing me and complaining when it didn’t yield the precise answer you were looking for.»

Tarantulas

> _ Stoppppp. Lecturing. Me. _ Tarantulas gripped his claw in the equivalent of a fist on the table to stop himself from hissing angrily at Prowl. It wouldn’t be productive. He’d regret it. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Prowl was right.
> 
> At least getting frustrated with Prowl made the subsequent jolt in his chassis a little less noticeable. So their relationship had been sexual, but not romantic. Noted. Compartmentalized for now.
> 
> «My _sincerest_ apologies for not being the perfect model of successful communication skills. Are you finished scolding me yet, or do I still have time to work on my appropriately sheepish and contrite face? Even if you can’t see it, it helps me get into character.» So much for not snapping at him.

Prowl

> And Prowl had successfully goaded Tarantulas into getting annoyed rather than immediately digging for more info on that “yes.” His most deadly weapon: interminable lecturing.
> 
> «I’m finished. The point has been made.»

Tarantulas

> «Good. I - hmn.»
> 
> Don’t think he’s done with you yet, Prowl. The lecturing will only get you so far before the distraction wears off.
> 
> «…Was it a… a casual arrangement? By which I mean, I understand that sexual interaction works differently in this universe, and I’m attempting to work out the implications.» Shift shift fidget.

Prowl

> «What would the alternative to a “casual arrangement” be?»

Tarantulas

> A moment of silence - Tarantulas hadn’t actually thought about what would constitute an alternate situation. It existed though, of that he was sure.
> 
> «Let’s say - a spontaneous fling. Or something that wasn’t spoken about. Or possibly a more structured arrangement, I’ve no idea what exactly the standards are here and how your experiences might deviate from them.»

Prowl

> «Something that wasn’t spoken about.
> 
> «That means I’m not going to speak about it.»

Tarantulas

> An unspoken sexual relationship? How in the world could Mesothulas have handled that? It’d drive Tarantulas positively insane not knowing what was going on, no matter how uncomfortable any actual discussion might be.
> 
> «Just because you _didn’t_  speak about it doesn’t mean you still oughtn’t.» He was patently ignoring the near-certain possibility that Prowl just didn’t _want_  to. «Come now, I mustered the courage to bring up the topic in the first place, it’d serve you well in the future if you positively reinforce the behavior now, would it not?»

Prowl

> «You misunderstand. I’m not describing how we conducted our sexual interactions. I’m describing how I’m conducting discussions of them now.
> 
> «You were brave. _And_ straightforward. However, one: I am not obligated to surrender pieces of myself and my history to you under any circumstances, including as a reward for good behavior; two: you’re assuming too much about what I’m expecting from you in the future if you think I’d be “served well” by your ability to talk about sex; and three: don’t you know intermittent reinforcement is more effective than continuous reinforcement?»

Tarantulas

> Why did Prowl have to be so _secretive._  Ergh. (As if Tarantulas didn’t keep a myriad of secrets to himself as well.)
> 
> «One: you’re not _obligated_ to, but you _can_ , and it might be beneficial to you, that’s all I was suggesting. Two: I’ll fit in better and cause less trouble in this universe if I’m more comfortable with the subject. Three: while intermittent reinforcement is considered effective when maintaining previously learned behaviors, continuous reinforcement is better for encouraging _new_ behaviors.»

Prowl

> «One: it _might_ be, but at this stage I don’t think it _will_ be, and there a higher probability of engaging in such a discussion having negative rather than positive repercussions.
> 
> «Two: how do you “cause trouble” by being uncomfortable discussing interfacing? And you can fit in without discussing it. There are mechs from this universe who are repulsed by, indifferent to, or unwilling to discuss interfacing. All you have to do to “fit in” is do whatever you feel inclined to do, but not treat others like they’re unusual if they want to discuss interfacing. You may even request they leave you out of their discussions without standing out as non-native.
> 
> «Three: you’re correct. I rescind my third point and stand by my first two.»

Tarantulas

> «One: you’ll have to elaborate on possible negative repercussions before I’m willing to change my mind of that point.» In other words, _tell me what you think will happen so I can reverse-extrapolate the information I want_.
> 
> «Two: I - I don’t know. Strike that argument out, it was a stand-in.
> 
> «Three: I appreciate your admission, and make sure to do your research before asserting key supports. In conclusion: I _do_  deserve continuous positive reinforcement. Go on, feel free to shower me with praise and compliments whenever you’re ready.»

Prowl

> «One: elaborating on the repercussions will by necessity imply certain facts that I do not wish to share, and therefore would defeat the purpose of concealing said facts. So, no. We may have to agree this point cannot be adequately resolved.
> 
> «Two: you’re welcome to propose another argument.
> 
> A pause; if Tarantulas is listening closely, he might be able to faintly hear Prowl smothering a laugh. «Three: I already did. I called you “brave and straightforward.” You don’t get another reward until you perform another action that deserves to be rewarded.»

Tarantulas

> Ugh, Prowl caught him. «One: agreeing to disagree isn’t a permissible conclusion; it’s a cop-out, especially since the initial Premise One is the core focus of our argument. Let’s just say - we’ll let the other premises speak first.
> 
> «Two: …er. Hold on.» A pause, then: «Hyeh. Your _expectations_  aren’t the sole factor to consider when determining what would serve you well.» Tarantulas was pretty sure the vast majority of Prowl’s expectations of him had either been shattered or severely… not-met. Something like that.
> 
> And yes, he did hear that laugh - it made his spark spin just a fraction faster, and in his opinion was a better reward than most words could ever be. «Three: you were only being half-serious when you described me as such, and it negated the compliment. …Hm, you know, it actually came off as derisive teasing. You owe me more praise to make up for the hurt you’ve caused.
> 
> «Also, I’m all audials if you have any suggestions as to actions that deserve to be rewarded.»

Prowl

> «One: if there is no way to proceed, we have no choice but to agree to disagree and to leave the matter unresolved.
> 
> «Two: you’re suggesting that I should make decisions on the basis of what I _don’t_ expect to happen? If not, then please elaborate on your point.
> 
> «Three: I was being completely serious. If you thought it sounded half-serious, much less derisive, then you’re projecting your own expectations onto my words.
> 
> «I would suggest starting with continued honesty, respect for my established boundaries, and—»
> 
> Faintly in the distance: «Are you flirtin’ with the bug again?!»
> 
> «… And, er—suchlike.» Muffled: «He’s not a— No! I’m not!»

Tarantulas

> «One: _no_. Although I find it telling that we’re disagreeing on whether or not we’re allowed to passively disagree, take that as you may.
> 
> «Two: not necessarily. It’s just that a person’s unavoidably limited perspective doesn’t allow them to see what would actually “serve them well.” I felt I should give my two shanix on the matter.
> 
> «Three: which has more weight, your miscommunicated intentions, or my emotional health? Choose wisely.»
> 
> Now it was Tarantulas’ turn to suppress a laugh. No reason to call Prowl out on something he was already getting teased for. That didn’t mean Tarantulas wouldn’t secretly thoroughly enjoy the insinuation, though. (Nevermind the fact they’d called him bug again. He didn’t catch that part.)
> 
> «Nnn, those aren’t isolated instances of good behavior that I could be rewarded for. Unless you’re suggesting I be granted rewards consistently for following your rules and be deprived of them if I misbehave. I wouldn’t be against such a proposition.»

Prowl

> «One: fine. Then let’s disagree to disagree. See how far that gets us.
> 
> «Two: until someone figures out how to program omniscience, the best one can do is use one’s own best judgment. And you assert too much. A person’s unavoidably limited perspective _might_ allow them to see what would serve them well. The fact that it’s limited doesn’t mean it’s inherently wrong.
> 
> «Three: your emotional health, obviously. However, your emotional health is not in jeopardy over a single misinterpreted compliment which I have already clarified. And if it _is_ in jeopardy, then the issue we need to address is not my misinterpreted comment; it’s your egregious emotional fragility.
> 
> «Your ongoing reward is my willingness to converse with you.»
> 
> «You _are_ flirtin’ with the bug.» « _Shut up._ I’m on speaker.» «Hey, bug! Stop flirting with—» The line goes dead. Several seconds later, Prowl’s back on. « _Anyway._ »

Tarantulas

> «One: it’s gotten us _this_  far.
> 
> «Two: one’s own judgment, in conjunction with others’ insight. My comment was hasty - surely you _can_  see the best option on occasion, it’d be stupid to write off the possibility, but it’s not a wholly  _reliable_ source of information whatsoever. …But that strays far from the initial argument.» 
> 
> A little bit of amused chittering. «Three: yes,  _egregious emotional fragility_. Never in my life have I heard a more accurate phrase used to encapsulate a facet of my person. You really ought to add that to your description of me - what was it, something about a smart beastformer?» …Don’t look too closely into it, Prowl, Tarantulas is fooling about in order to hide the fact that his insecure emotional stability is kind of actually maybe a little bit of a problem. Thankfully not in this instance, though.
> 
> A moment of worry when the line cut off, but Prowl came back - that meant he did actually _want_ to talk to Tarantulas. Strangely hard to believe, but here they were.
> 
> «Hyeh. At least beastformer is more appropriate than _bug_  though, which, if there’s any way you could condition the Constructicons out of calling me that, I’d be forever in your debt.
> 
> «…And that’s an extremely basic and childish reward. There at least ought to be a leveling-up system or some sort of cumulative reward to accompany it.»

Prowl

> «One: no, we got this far by continuously coming up with points that progressed our arguments. On this point, we’re at an impasse where neither of us can put forth new assertions.
> 
> «Two: fine, then do you have any new insight on this point for me to consider?
> 
> «Three: I’m not going to add that to your description. It would do you a massive disservice to go around telling everyone who asks about you that you’re emotionall—»
> 
> A small yelp, a moment of scuffling noises, and then a Constructicon was on the line. «Prowl ain’t allowed to talk to you no more.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was already coming up with more things to debate in order to keep Prowl on the line, but apparently keeping him on the line wasn’t an option anymore. Whatever light humor he’d had got crushed under the weight of his rapidly growing irritation with the Constructicons.
> 
> «Which one of them are you, hm? I _dearly_ hope for his own sake that this isn’t Bonecrusher.»

Prowl

> Prowl had quite quickly gotten irritated too. He was slouched back in his seat, arms crossed—accuse him of sulking and he’ll deny it—but he wasn’t complaining, and he wasn’t trying to retrieve his confiscated comm unit.
> 
> The Constructicon’s sneer was audible, «What’s it to you if I am?» (In the background, «He ain’t. I am.» )

Tarantulas

> Hopefully Prowl was refraining from going for the unit because he didn’t want to risk green moron retaliation and not because he didn’t want to chat. Because you _do_  want to talk with Tarantulas, Prowl. You _do_.
> 
> «I’m keeping tally of instances of interference or threats to my person, and among the five of you, Bonecrusher happens to be in the lead - which, if you couldn’t infer, is _not_  a good thing in this situation. He’s only got three more strikes left, so it’s very kind of you to take one for the team for him.»

Prowl

> All right, that’s Prowl lunging across his makeshift desk-berth to grab at the comm unit. «And what do you— _let me talk!_ —what do you think you’re going to do to _my_ team if you’re dissatisfied with them? It’s not a crime to _interfere_ with a _conversation._ Do you hear me reprimanding them?»

Tarantulas

> «I didn’t say it was a _crime_ , Prowl, it’s just _rude_. I’m attempting to teach them some manners.» Only while he was physically outside of their reach, that was. «And I haven’t decided what I’ll do yet, I haven’t profiled them thoroughly enough to put together individualized behavior plans. Don’t fret though, I’ll stay well within the bounds of all our agreements and take local intergalactic sentience rights into consideration as well.» 

Prowl

> «You’re not going to do a _thing_ to them. Ever. For any reason. Do you understand?»

Tarantulas

> …Maybe Tarantulas should have looked longer to find a universe in which Prowl wasn’t combiner-bound to the Constructicons. This was… an inconvenience.
> 
> «I didn’t say _that_  either, stop putting words in my mandibles. What in the world are you imagining I’m going to _do_  to them? _Torture_ them or something? Firstly, **no** \- secondly, they’re inextricably bound to you - and finally, they’re not worth that kind of attention.» 

Prowl

> «You said you need to take intergalactic sentient rights into consideration. That means you think the things you’re considering doing might violate those rights. _Not only_ should you not be doing anything that toes that line; you should not be doing anything _at all._ You have no right to start meting out punishments to them on the basis of _their and my_ internal affairs.
> 
> «You gave Bonecrusher a “strike” for coming to check on me after a disturbing spark signal. You want to punish him for being concerned about my safety. _Do you see what’s wrong with that._ »

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to mute the commline and make some self-pitying frustrated noises. If he were self-aware enough, he’d also be scolding himself for various reasons, but he’ll have to do that later on instead.
> 
> «I _seriously_  ought to start tagging my oblique humor for you. And I’d be giving them reprimands for infringing on my _own_ rights and boundaries - threats and unnecessary interference aren’t acceptable, would you not agree? Give me the opportunity to elaborate before you jump to conclusions and condemn me for things I absolutely _haven’t_  done or plan on doing.
> 
> «I didn’t _say_  I gave Bonecrusher a strike for that. I gave Bonecrusher a strike for not leaving once he observed that you were quite obviously _well and fine_. And stop saying “punish,” that implies the wrong connotations. It’s almost as if you’re _trying_  to paint me as a villain, and I - I don’t appreciate that. It _hurts_.»

Prowl

> «Yes! Tag your humor, for heaven’s sake! That shouldn’t even be a question at this point!» For one thing, it wouldn’t allow Tarantulas to later claim he’d been joking to cover up what Prowl was fairly certain had been sincere comments at the time.
> 
> «Then don’t _act_ like a villain. His interference wasn’t unnecessary. And I—his commanding officer—didn’t dismiss him. Did you forget that? He answers to me, not you.»

Tarantulas

> «I _wish_ \- I wish -» _I wish you wouldn’t be so literal. So critical. So insufferably keen and insightful and everything I admire you for._ «…I _will_. There.»
> 
> Tarantulas took another moment to quash down the tumult in his mind. So many thoughts and feelings but not enough words and never enough time.
> 
> « _Well_ then! Just _tell_ me you don’t want me there. _Tell_  me to leave. Don’t hide behind brutes and excuses because you don’t trust me and don’t want to be around me without constant supervision. You accuse _me_  of dancing around things - well, it’s _your_ turn now.»

Prowl

> « _Fine._ I…» A long silence.
> 
> It would be very easy to lie.
> 
> Prowl didn’t want to lie.
> 
> Did the benefits of keeping at arm’s length still outweigh the risk of pushing him away?
> 
> «… I do want you there, Tarantulas. But I—we cannot maintain rationality when we interact,» he started talking faster, «and I _need_ that rationality, that’s why I need them to intervene to prevent me from doing— scrap .» Scuffle, scuffle, scuffle.
> 
> A Constructicon is back on the line. «Something stupid,» he finished. «Stupid like that. This conversation’s over. Any last message for Prowl?»

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s words rang in Tarantulas’ audials for a while, as if stalling the moment they’d be processed. Either that, or so that Tarantulas could cherish the moment more thoroughly. Then the Constructicons rudely interrupted.
> 
> « _Yes_. Tell him to reroute his prefrontal module function elsewhere, it’s getting in the way of creativity and productivity.»

Prowl

> «Yeah I dunno what that means so I’m not gonna say that. Do you got something to say that _isn’t_ weird nerd flirting?»
> 
> (Other Constructicons in the background: «Think he called the boss stupid.» «Rude.» )

Tarantulas

> «No, that should suffice.»
> 
> A lie. But none of his torrent of thoughts would get past Prowl’s thoroughly incompetent yet effective firewall.

Prowl

> « _Fine._ Something something rewire his creativity servos or something.»

Tarantulas

> Ugh.
> 
> «Just turn up the comm unit volume and I’ll say it _myself_ , slag it.»

Prowl

> «Nuh-uh. It’s probably some pick-up line he don’t need to hear. I think we’re done here.»

Tarantulas

> «If you’d -» Tarantulas cut himself off with an incensed huff.
> 
> Then promptly dropped the line. He wasn’t going to let the Constructicons be the ones to hang up on _him_ , thank you very much.

Prowl

> «Hey!» He lowered the comm. And then turned to Prowl, on the other side of the mezzanine, and said petulantly, “He hung up on me.”
> 
> “Weren’t you going to hang up on him?”
> 
> “Yeah, _so?_ ”
> 
> Prowl sighed.

 

* * *

 

Tarantulas

> It hurts. _It hurts_.
> 
> Prowl really does see him as a villain, or at the very least, a bad person. Prowl sees himself as a good person. Good people and bad people are incompatible; that’s enough to make Tarantulas upset. But honestly… it’s more than that.
> 
> _I’m not a bad person. I’m not a bad person. I’m **not** a bad person_.
> 
> He’s done bad things, he’s not stupid enough to deny that, but he’s not a bad person. _I just want to be happy. I just want to be alone. I just want Prowl._ Was that too much to ask for? Were those hopes and dreams that he shouldn’t have, shouldn’t be allowed to aspire to? Did he deserve to be called a bad person and be ostracized and considered disgusting and hopeless and vile because of… because of… he didn’t even know what. _Why_. 
> 
> Tarantulas suddenly felt queasy. That was why Prowl threw him into the Noisemaze. Because even when he’d been Mesothulas, he was a _bad person_. A bad person. Prowl thought he _deserved_ to be condemned to sensory hell because he was a bad person who _deserved_ to be punished. Prowl was wrong. He was _wrong_.
> 
> …He _had_  to be wrong.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nerds flipping out about nerd stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A currently unfinished thread - figured it should be posted anyway since there're so many more chapters waiting on it!
> 
> Also, fair warning: some of the content is obnoxiously technical. Feel free to look up the terms if you're determined to pick out nuances, but no worries otherwise.

Tarantulas

> Plop! In came a non-urgent voice message into Prowl’s inbox. Tarantulas knew better than to make it an actual call - even though _he_ was disoriented and sleep-deficient, that didn’t mean Prowl had to be.
> 
> It was really, really hard to hold back though. This was just  _too neat_.
> 
> «I  _seriously_  should deprive myself of sleep more often, it can’t just have been a coincidence - Prowl, I found an even/odd coprime amicable pair  _in my sleep_.  ** _An even/odd coprime amicable pair_.**  I’ve had the search going for over a year now on a whim and it woke me up with a ping and I’m not even upset I overslept because it was the most fantastically unexpected gift and it’s a _slagging even/odd coprime amicable pair_.» Cut for some uncharacteristic celebratory noises in the background.

Prowl

> Once Prowl’s awake, the first thing he does, half asleep and optics not even on yet, is check his comms.
> 
> He is  _completely and totally awake_  when he comms Tarantulas. «You found a  _what_?! How? What? What are they?» Awake but not entirely coherent.

Tarantulas

> « _An even/odd coprime amicable pair._ » He’d say it as many times as he could get away with - the words had a sort of magic spell over him at the moment.
> 
> He pinged Prowl the set of numbers, an insanely large pair upwards of a googol in magnitude. But there they were, just as promised, and fairly simple enough to check their veracity.
> 
> «I’d say I have a new favorite number, but it’d have to be a tie for first place, and even the two combined can’t  _quite_  edge out eight. It’s a close call though, let me tell you.» Some strange giggling.

Prowl

> Upwards of a googol? Pfft. Come back with something over a googolplex and maybe then Prowl will find it hard to calculate.
> 
> «That’s—that’s  _astounding_ , Tarantulas. How did you find it? What did you do? Have you had a computer working on it, or a subroutine in your processor, or—?» Yes, Tarantulas partially explained it already. Prowl’s so excited he already forgot what he said.

Tarantulas

> It’s alright Prowl, Tarantulas doesn’t remember anything he said a second or two ago except the aforementioned magic phrase, so you’re even.
> 
> «Technically a computer, but I have remote access to the console so I suppose it’s cheating? As intriguing and revelatory a program it was, I’d rarely have a byte of space to spare in my processor for it - besides, it might’ve gotten lost in there anyway, hyeheh.
> 
> «It wasn’t  _that_  complicated to sort out though, I don’t know why no one’s done it yet - to my knowledge, that is.» Hey, what the heck, let Tarantulas dig up the actual base program and ping it to Prowl too. He’s feeling generous today. Or is it tonight? He couldn’t tell, and frankly it didn’t matter in the slightest.

Prowl

> «“Cheating”? You discovered an even/odd coprime amicable pair, what does  _cheating_  have to do with it? That’s an accomplishment no matter how you look at it.»
> 
> Please hold, Prowl’s got to turn off the comm for a couple of seconds when he gets the program until he’s sure he can suppress any undignified noises. It’s too early in the morning for this. (The Constructicons immediately unplug from him, shove him in halfhearted disapproval, and go back to sleep without him.) «That’s—yes, you’ve—you’ve absolutely streamlined the process. It’s…» Give Prowl a moment, he’s looking for words.

Tarantulas

> While Prowl’s got him on hold, Tarantulas is going to revel in the glow of implicit praise. There’s nothing better than a project success than the congratulation and admiration in its wake, especially if it’s from Prowl.
> 
> Brilliant - say it, Prowl, it’s  _brilliant_. You can do it.
> 
> «I suppose streamlined is one way to put it - it’ll make it simpler to find other notable factorizations and pairs, if you just edit the code lines starting… what is it, somewhere around 64000 to 65000, I’m too lazy to look it up right now - but see? I positively  _love_  it. Could do with a few tweaks, but not now, hyeh.» 

Prowl

> No. Nope. He’s not going to say it.
> 
> «I’ll take your word for it.» He could see how it worked but he didn’t have a clue what sort of edits Tarantulas was proposing, much less how they’d work. «What sort of other notable factorizations and pairs? More even/odd coprime pairs, or something new?»

Tarantulas

> It’d take a deft hand at coding to understand some of the tricks Tarantulas had threaded in, but Prowl had the capacity to understand - if only Tarantulas were sane and stable enough to explain it to him.
> 
> «I doubt it’d find another of the same anytime soon, but it  _could_  find other notables, like… well, new deficient, abundant, amicable, sociable, practical, and maybe even pernicious numbers -» A lapse into mumbling. «- but that would take some finagling, I don’t have the patience for that. Nor for reversing the code, although that’d be…» 

Prowl

> «Hm. All less notable than an even/odd coprime amicable pairs. All the same—that must be a versatile program, if it’s capable of all that.»
> 
> A pause. «What are pernicious numbers  _for?_  I know what they  _are_ , but—is there any practical use for them? Because I can’t think of any.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh  _come_  now, I didn’t just mean one descriptor per new number - feel free to mix and match as you see fit. I’ll even add an “other” option for you to fill in your own. The code’s modular enough that I should be able to translate most requests into a full program.» A possibly overly-ambitious claim, but he’d take any chance to impress Prowl just a little bit more.
> 
> « _Pernicious_ \- yes, yes there is - a use, I mean. Or rather, none that I know of, but you can  _make_  one. I haven’t delved as deeply into cryptography as I’d  _like_  to, but given public key encryption and the current use of integer factorization in key generation programs - see? It’s - _it’s_ -»
> 
> Forgive him if he’s not making any sense, Prowl. His vocalizer tripped and fell behind while his processor sprinted off without it.

Prowl

> «… Hm.» That was more clever. «So is that how you found the pair you did? You just—were searching for  _all_  those things, and that pair happened to fit in all of the above slots?»
> 
> Ah. Cryptography. « _Everything_  can be used for cryptography. That doesn’t mean it’s  _good_  cryptography. And I don’t trust public key encryptions, personally—they just make for tempting targets by enemy nerds who want to show off how smart they are. It only takes a matter of time to reverse-engineer a private key.»

Tarantulas

> « _Kind_  of. Yes. Technically. It’s an interconnected system though, given that the definitions and properties of types of numbers overlap and subsume each other, so it’s not as if it’s trial-and-error with three testing slots.» 
> 
> Some chittering laughter. « _Yes_ , Prowl, but I disagree - it’s not just a matter of  _time_ , at least if you’re using a semantically secure system. There’s the factor of computational hardness - which I could potentially scrape away a layer of, if I manage to find a reliable way to… well, make whatever it is  _less hard_. It seems to me, at least hypothetically, I could be on track to doing that - if I can  _solve_  a problem reliably -»
> 
> A moment’s backtracking, then: «… _Heh_ , but that - doesn’t have to do with pernicious numbers, does it… Unless someone’s used an algorithm with a sufficiently ridiculous binary computation. Alright, so maybe that set of numbers isn’t  _quite_  as important. But do you see my point? What can  _you_ make of it, Prowl? There has to be more usefulness  - if it  _literally_  makes a hard computation less hard, that’s not insignificant, I mean -»

Prowl

> «“Computational hardness” is just “length of computational time required” to the sufficiently motivated and sufficiently brilliant. But, if you  _did_  manage to permanently take off a layer of computational hardness for public key encryptions, that would be quite…» Quite clever? Quite an accomplishment? «… quite something.»
> 
> An awkward pause. Ah. Yes. Well. He  _could_  make something useful out of it, couldn’t he? But… «In all honesty, I dislike pernicious numbers. So I’d rather not make anything of it if I don’t have to. There’s—no logical reason.»

Tarantulas

> Heavy amusement. «Do we  _really_  want to get into P versus NP? I have far too many opinions and not enough knowledge on the subject. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to make the information public if I  _do_  find an algorithm that cuts down on hardness, so the point’s moot.»
> 
> Tarantulas paused too -  _what_? « _Dislike_  pernicious numbers? I can understand not  _caring_  about them, but actively disliking a set - it seems arbitrary at best, allllthough I will admit to actively  _liking_  some numbers over others, so I suppose that’s a similar quandary, isn’t it.»

Prowl

> «You would tell  _me_  the algorithm, wouldn’t you?» There’s only one acceptable answer here.
> 
> «Yes. Dislike. And yes, it  _is_  arbitrary. I’m only Cybertronian; sometimes I like and dislike number sets for no practical reason.» Apparently Prowl thinks having an opinion on number sets is something most Cybertronians would find relatable. «Would you be surprised to discover I have a favorite color, too.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, but of  _course_ , Prowl. Anything for you.» Not entirely true on both accounts, but the sentiment was there.
> 
> «There’s got to be  _some_  reason for it - some association or rationalization. But in any case, yes, I’m actually  _significantly_ surprised. What is it? Hex code?»

Prowl

> Prowl can hear the asterisked footnote:  _some terms and conditions apply._  He’ll accept it for now.
> 
> «I just—think they’re silly. They’re so unnecessary. Admittedly I’m skeptical of anything that involves adding together a number’s digits, but  _converting into binary first…_ » He trailed off. «I think that’s what bothers me most about them. You add  _binary_  digits into a  _decimal_  number. It feels unnatural. Maybe if they were left in binary.»
> 
> A moment as he tries to translate it into hex. «… Somewhere between #CC0000 and #FF3300.» Prowl’s brain only works in web safe colors.

Tarantulas

> «So you’d be more in favor of working with evil and odious numbers as significant - mmn, but even  _then_ that’s a decimal summation. I just - it seems so much  _easier_  to work with binary sometimes. For example, logic - how 1001 | 0110 = 1111 compared to 9 | 6 = 15. Further manipulation back into decimal might  _feel_ unnatural, but since most tech doesn’t work in binary…» An invisible shrug.
> 
> «Hmn! I wouldn’t have guessed, but it  _is_  appropriate. I’m afraid I don’t have a favorite color myself, though. It’s hard enough to pick from hex, so when you add infrared and ultraviolet…» 

Prowl

> «They’re still silly, but they’re not quite as… disconcerting,» Prowl said. «I’ve nothing against working in binary, but that “logic” only makes sense for a few situations—visually speaking, if we’re treating digits like shapes instead of numbers, 0011 | 0111 = 1010 is much less intuitive than your example.
> 
> «So, don’t pick from hex. Give me color names.»

Tarantulas

> «But I  _don’t_  treat digits like shapes, they’re like… like  _ideas_. It makes sense to me that 1 | 1 = 10 and so on, just because it… it just…  _does_.» Some confused laughter. «…I concede that’s one of the most irrational things I’ve ever said - but binary’s just so much less internally intricate than decimal, I suppose. It does lack elegance, but sometimes it’s worth the sacrifice.
> 
> «There aren’t  _names_  for most colors outside the average visible spectrum - but it still holds that I don’t  _have_  favorites anyhow.»

Prowl

> «Hm. I assumed you were treating them like shapes based on the example you gave.» Ones slipping into zeros like zipper teeth interlocking. «I don’t have any inborn inclination toward any particular numeral system—I can switch between any of them. I suppose by now I’m biased toward decimal, but only because everyone else used it most so that’s what I’m typically thinking in when I save my memories. If I’d been given a choice, though, I would have preferred using higher radix. Maybe sexagesimal numbers.
> 
> «Really. You don’t have  _any_  preference for any colors over others. The entire range of colors you can see are completely equal to you, with no biases for or against any and no positive or negative associations.»
> 
> Hold on, file incoming—a list of vocabulary words from four different species describing colors outside of the average Cybertronian visible light spectrum.

Tarantulas

> A chitter. « _Sexagesimal_. Fair enough. Although I wouldn’t say I have anything of an “inborn inclination” - it’s a developed bias, yes. And even if it was innate, it’d be a result of structural determinations and nothing more.
> 
> «Just because I don’t have  _favorites_  doesn’t mean I don’t have  _opinions_.» Tarantulas sifted through a file - some of the words familiar to him, some not. «Each color has a - a profile attached to it. A persona. So, associations - yes. Psychological and sociological correlations too.
> 
> «An example… hmm. Amarklor and kalish are close in wavelength, but they’re distinctly unique in profile. It’s akin to the difference between someone who talks with their mouth full, and -» Oops. His processor had apparently taken a moment to sift through all the vocabulary. «-  _Wait_. [Flange](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FList_of_fictional_colors&t=Njk2ZTI0N2U3YTFhYTY1MmJiYzZmZDFhZmM0OGFiNGNhNjQwOTA5MyxhZkMyMWVhOQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F154871483664%2Fverdigrisprowl-hm-i-assumed-you-were-treating&m=1). I can’t perceive it, but if I could, I know for a fact it’d be my favorite.»

Prowl

> «Why a bias toward binary, then?
> 
> «I had kalish accents once.» He sends a picture—a purple vehicle with a taxi-like checkered ultraviolet pattern down the side. «Typical for law enforcement vehicles on the planet I was stationed. I hope that one isn’t the color with poor table manners.»
> 
> He snorted. «That doesn’t sound like a color. I think it’s a convoluted way of saying “rainbow.“»

Tarantulas

> Light chittering. «I don’t know - but like I mentioned, probably something to do with the simplicity. That said, I rarely ever  _use_  binary, so…» 
> 
> Oh my - kalish looked  _good_  on Prowl, even in checkered form. Not that anything  _wouldn’t_ look good on Prowl in Tarantulas’ opinion, but still. «I - I see. No, thankfully not - kalish is like… more like the meal itself, I suppose. Obtenteum has a faint kalish aura at times, actually.
> 
> «And don’t invalidate another individual’s experience,» Tarantulas chided teasingly. «It really  _isn’t_ , it’s as if - all the colors in a given spectrum collapsed to a single point. A selective singularity, if I understand correctly. That way, even though it’s only a set, I don’t have to choose within the set - and besides, the particular set for flange happens to be the majority of wavelengths my vision was originally contained to. Call it  _nostalgia_.»

Prowl

> «Wonderful. I look edible. That’s much better.»
> 
> A kalish aura? «… Not unexpected, I suppose, since it’s a derivative of energon. That just shifts the hue slightly.» But the substance was green, why would it give off an ultraviolet glow? He couldn’t ask that, though—Tarantulas didn’t know Prowl had seen obtenteum before.
> 
> Prowl processed that definition. «… That’s called  _white_.»

Tarantulas

> «Well - it’s not far from the truth, is it?» Set yourself up for that one, Prowl.
> 
> «No, energon from my universe doesn’t have any kalish aura. I’m hypothesizing it has more to do with the shift from Ultra Energon to obtenteum instead. I’m not too preoccupied with it though, I’ve got  _plenty_  else on my mind, hyeh.» 
> 
> A few seconds of silence. «Not -  _damnit_. They’re not  _incorporated_ , they’re simultaneous. The mental sensation of experiencing them each all at once, not the summation of them. I’m highly disappointed you thought I was mindless enough to think  _flange_  was  _white_.»

Prowl

> «Everything is edible with sharp enough teeth, strong enough acid, and stubborn enough determination. That doesn’t mean consumption is recommended. Especially without getting permission first.
> 
> «Nor mine. But purple-pink and kalish aren’t very far off from each other. Some species don’t even differentiate between them—everything past green is all one color.
> 
> «What’s the difference? White is all colors incorporated, rainbow is all colors simultaneously. Where does flange come in?»

Tarantulas

> « _Looking_ edible and  _being_  edible are two different things. The former indicates desirability of consumption.» There was definitely a flirtatious edge to his vocals there.
> 
> «They may not be far off, but they’re distinctly different wavelengths - my point still stands. And as far as other species go, perception of color isn’t as important as actual measurements - the only reason they can’t see past green is because they don’t have the sensory equipment to process anything else, not because the other colors are too  _close_  or too  _similar_. That’s entirely subjective.
> 
> «And it’s - look. White is incorporated.  _Flange_  is simultaneous. And rainbow? Rainbow isn’t a single color, it’s a two-dimensional expression of multiple colors. The only reason it’s difficult to comprehend the definition is because we don’t have a sample -  _we can’t see it_. Otherwise this would make perfect sense, I promise.»

Prowl

> «Mm. Perhaps I should track down my checkerboard stencil again, then.» Okay, that was too far. He shouldn’t have said that. No more of that nonsense.
> 
> «I didn’t say they can’t see  _past_  green, they just call it one color name. But you’re correct, perception is inferior to measurements.
> 
> «Well—well how can they be simultaneous, then? Do you just… put them on top of each other? You’d only seen one at a time. How do you know it would make perfect sense if we saw it? Maybe we’d be going “oh, it’s just marbled.“»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, it wasn’t the checkered pattern that endowed your esculence.» Yes Prowl,  _more_  of that nonsense, if you would, please. Tarantulas needs more opportunities to tangentially hit on you.
> 
> «It  _wouldn’t_  be marbled, that implies more than one dimension. I mean to say - maybe it wouldn’t make perfect sense, but at least we’d have some point of reference. It’s not a thing we can currently understand because our manner of processing doesn’t  _allow_  for simultaneous color perception.» 

Tarantulas

> Prowl didn’t even know what esculence was, he had to look the word up. Tarantulas, why do you do these things to Prowl. He decided to let the topic drop there, before he said something he’d regret.
> 
> «That’s what I’m saying—maybe it’s  _not_  something we can’t understand. Maybe it’s something perfectly comprehensible that’s being described like it isn’t.»

Tarantulas

> Prowl knows  _exactly_  why Tarantulas does this - to coax Prowl into saying those “somethings” he’d regret later. Mission unsuccessful this time.
> 
> Heavy squinting in no particular direction. «…I  _suppose_  so. But it seems far more likely that we can’t, based on the fact that we’ve no mental precedent for it. I’m inclined to believe that since flange is viewed independently from white and rainbows, it’s something else entirely outside that concept. Honestly - I haven’t asked, but I suspect - one might be  _offended_  that such a comparison was draw between white and flange.
> 
> «But - hyeh, what am I saying. I’ve no right to claim a color I can’t perceive or even  _describe_  as my favorite; it’s counterintuitive at best.»

Prowl

> «We can’t know for sure what it is without being presented with a sample. I’m not willing to accept sight unseen that it’s some sort of paradoxical all-colors-in-one-point phenomenon, instead of a different cultural understanding of a phenomenon we already know.»

Tarantulas

> «But if it’s merely a cultural difference, don’t you think the file you sent would have flange listed next to whatever phenomenon we know that it roughly correlates to? Besides, it wouldn’t be paradoxical, it’s simply not within our current understanding.»

Prowl

> «Not if whoever picked up the word hadn’t experienced it yet and so didn’t know what to relate it to. You’d be surprised how much vocabulary counter-infiltration units pick up from the planets where they’re stationed without getting full definitions.
> 
> «Multiple colors experienced like a singularity rather than in a visually or chronologically distinct manner  _without_  being white  _is_  paradoxical. Light doesn’t work like that.»

Tarantulas

> «Aha, really? Not something I’d considered before, but it makes sense. I suppose I’ll have to do my own research into flange then - always best to work from primary sources anyhow.
> 
> «And excuse you, light  _does_  work like that. The only reason you and I perceive an object as one color instead of many is because of a summation of the object’s emitted spectrum anyhow. It’s a  _mess_ , and one that’s even worse for organics, believe it or not.» 

Prowl

> «… Let me know what you find out about it.» Now Prowl was curious about what flange was supposed to be. He still didn’t believe it was a new thing, but he’d like to know  _which_  previously-known thing it was.
> 
> « _Exactly_. White  _is_  a summation. Which is why it doesn’t make sense for another summation to be classified as a bunch of distinct colors instead of the summation it is. I can fully believe it’s harder for organics, though. Most species’ anatomy tends to be a collection of happy accidents rather than intentional designs.»

Tarantulas

> «Most certainly.» Any excuse to hook Prowl into conversation via fascinating information.
> 
> «To my imagination, it’d be something along the lines of convergent mental processing of the spectrum, but with a meta component of collective awareness of the shades. And heh, yes. That’s how evolution tends to work.» 

Prowl

> With anyone else Prowl would caution against attempting to theorize how organics think. Since his conversational partner was Tarantulas, though… «How much do you know about how organics think? I mean—have you ever… I don’t know how to phrase it—connected to an organic mind?» That seemed like the exact sort of nonsense Tarantulas would be likely to engage in. And it wouldn’t be unlikely, considering his recent areas of interest.
> 
> «Mm. Yes, it is. It’s unfortunate for them that they can’t simply rewire and upgrade poorly-designed parts of their anatomy and physiology; but it’s remarkable that the system works as well as it does.» … Was that technoist? Prowl wasn’t sure. He’d let it slide.

Tarantulas

> «Connected? Not in a sense equivalent to hardlining, no. I’ve tried to replicate the experience of a human mind via their EEG and PET scan results and I think I  _mostly_  got the gist of what goes on - but you never can tell, hyeh. Why?
> 
> «And yes, naturally - but they really do have quite resilient tissue, considering their vulnerability. On Earth their intellect makes up for their lack of defenses in comparison to other species - and even in the case of injury, they  _are_  capable of cellular regeneration. They’re not  _completely_  helpless, the darling little things.» 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yep, unfinished, as mentioned above. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catching up about catching up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny smidgen of a chapter to explain IC why Tarantulas-mun couldn't come to movie nights anymore.

Prowl

> Prowl was getting the impression that Tarantulas wasn’t going to come back to movie night. He wouldn’t comment on it; Tarantulas had never dealt well with crowds. Prowl just sent all the episodes he missed.

Tarantulas

> Prowl was probably right on that one. Tarantulas had simply been holding off on saying so, as if admitting he wasn’t coming anymore was admitting defeat. He sent a quick confirmation ping back to let Prowl know he’d received the files, but if he was being honest… he’d prefer Prowl  _did_  comment on his absence. But if Prowl wasn’t actually comm’ing him, Tarantulas wasn’t going to push it.
> 
> The episodes were shelved for the moment - he could watch them later during some down time, so he could actually focus on them and/or not be distracted by work. The fact that Prowl had personally invited him to movie nights for this meant the documentary was at least  _somewhat_  important, not to mention there might be some tech or ideas Tarantulas could glean from the glimpse into another universe.

Prowl

> To Prowl’s mind, in a way, sending the files without comment  _was_  sort of a comment; it said he noted the absence, accepted it, and didn’t need or expect an explanation.
> 
> But once Prowl had the confirmation ping, he sent a brief comm anyway: «I’ll send you next week’s once I have them.» Technically extraneous info—when else would he send next week’s,  _before_  he had them?—but it wasn’t meant to tell Tarantulas when the next episodes were arriving so much as it was meant to tell Tarantulas that Prowl knew he wasn’t coming again, and wasn’t going to try to make him.

Tarantulas

> Implicit comment on Tarantulas’ absence was all well and fine, but the significance of  _speaking up_  was more about articulation, elaboration, and validation, none of which he could definitively receive through vid files. Unspoken sentiments were incredibly easy to misinterpret.
> 
> «Is there any chance you could gain access to the whole documentary series at once and let me binge-watch, or would that be  _spoiling_  it for everyone else?» A confirmation of Prowl’s assumption. And the fact that Prowl didn’t seem likely to drag him back… well, appreciated, but a teensy bit disappointing somehow.

Prowl

> You’d think Prowl would know better. But no, he doesn’t. Of course not.
> 
> «I’ll ask.» He also might have to pre-screen to make sure there was nothing else he didn’t want Tarantulas to see.

Tarantulas

> «Much appreciated. Among other things, it’s easier to keep track of continuity that way.» 
> 
> Hopefully Prowl realized this method of binge-watching would highlight the disjoints in narrative. Because Tarantulas  _would_  see them, and the fact that Prowl left things out would call all the more attention to them.

Prowl

> Oh, Prowl realized. Hence part of the need for him to pre-screen. If there were going to be any awkward gaps in the continuity, he’d have to tell Tarantulas he couldn’t get all the episodes at once, so that he could neatly portion out the episodes to hide continuity gaps.
> 
> «I’ll let you know.»

Tarantulas

> A lot of thought and hard work going into hiding things that Tarantulas will probably find out anyway… Sorry for your wasted efforts, Prowl - but the parceled distraction technique is a good one, at least.
> 
> A small noise of assent. «…You wouldn’t happen to have time or interest in chatting at the moment, would you?»

Prowl

> A pause.
> 
> Prowl looked at the Constructicons on the couch.
> 
> They glared at him.
> 
> Prowl looked back at his comm. «Chatting about what?»
> 
> Two Constructicons facepalmed. One hissed “ _That ain’t what the glare meant!_ ”

Tarantulas

> _Eek_. Time to scramble for something sufficiently tempting to talk about. But damnit, for once Tarantulas didn’t actually want to talk about his projects…
> 
> «Anything really. Hyeh,  _you_  ought to choose the topic of conversation this time, I commandeer and misdirect things far too often.»

Prowl

> Tempting.  _Very_  tempting. But…
> 
> Prowl glanced back at the Constructicons. Their glares intensified. Mixmaster shook his head.
> 
> Prowl sighed silently. «I only commed to send over the documentary episodes.»

Tarantulas

> «Are you  _sure_ …?» A hint of spidery puppy-eyes in his voice. He wasn’t going to say any more than that for fear of influencing Prowl negatively, like he  _always_  seemed to accidentally do.

Prowl

> Auggh. Prowl looked at the Constructicons, servos pressed together.  _Please?_  All of them shook their heads. «I don’t have the time right now.»

Tarantulas

> A pitiful sad noise. Tarantulas hoped it made Prowl feel at least a tiny bit bad, seeing as the spider didn’t believe Prowl  _didn’t_  actually have the time.
> 
> «I… well, try to comm  _sometime_  when you’re free, and do be thinking about topics and questions… I’ll be waiting patiently.»

Prowl

> Prowl is almost completely sure that noise was deliberately designed to hurt him. It worked. He glared at the Constructicons. They made five different rude gestures.
> 
> «Don’t wait. Find something productive to do.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _am_ , I am… Toying with the energon dilution formula right now. But that doesn’t mean I still won’t be anticipating your call.» 

Prowl

> Energon dilution? Prowl wanted to know more.
> 
> Instead, he sent a wordless farewell ping.

Tarantulas

> _Damnit_. Last-ditch attempt at dragging Prowl into a conversation failed.
> 
> A goodbye ping in return - and he  _will_  be waiting.


	20. Huge Mistake 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You choose - should this one be "Prowl makes another Huge Mistake™" and/or "You Idiots Should Start Learning to Expect the Unexpected Already" ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JSYK this chapter is rated **Mature**. Spawned from a general call to submit wet dreams to Prowl's inbox for him to rate out of 5.

> _You're putting together an enormous jigsaw puzzle, the pieces of which are constantly changing shape, amoeba-like. Each piece is blank until attached to another, and as you complete more and more of the puzzle, it becomes clear that the image on it is a pinup of Tarantulas._

Prowl

> The amoeba pieces are incredibly annoying and Prowl cannot stand them, but like hell is he going to let this puzzle beat him. He’s just starting to make out what the picture is supposed to be of, when—
> 
> He’s shaken awake. “Whuhh?”
> 
> “Nuh,” Long Haul says groggily. “Nuh uh. Not havin’ nunna that. No sexy bug dreams.”
> 
> “Mrrph.” Prowl paps Long Haul’s face with his fingertips, and flops back down.
> 
> |-3|/5 - Incredibly annoying puzzle, but as he drifts back to sleep, he tries to fill in the gaps in the pin-up.

Tarantulas

> The Tarantulas pin-up puzzle is back, and this time the boundaries aren’t the only shifting part. He’s being coy, strategically hiding behind missing pieces until you finish the puzzle. He waits till the last moment before snagging you with thread and pulling you in – and there’s no way to avoid being scooped up in those fiercely possessive arms and smothered in fur and mandibled attention. There’s nothing shy about him anymore. It’s all silken bonds and spider bites and missing plating, and none of it’s predictable, none of it’s quantifiable. The variables are Tarantulas’ to control, and he’s softly hissing their functions in your audial, integrating your frame into his and deriving pleasure solely from pleasuring you.

Prowl

> Ah, the frustrating puzzle was back. It figured that it would haunt him until he’d finished it. So, finish it he would—grappling with every piece as they melted and morphed in his grip, fighting them into their proper positions, taunted all the while as Tarantulas dodged out of sight.
> 
> But the moment he solved it, reality fell apart.
> 
> Suddenly 2D was 3D, a plane became a portal, and before he could make sense of anything he was snatched through. For a moment he drowned in the uncanny feeling of prison cells and long highways and crashed ships, the liminal spaces where his life crumbles to pieces and he has to put himself back together.
> 
> And then he’s being held by a liminal person, someone that spins webs in the gaps between two planes of reality, someone that is himself full of the hollow spaces that exist between mechanical and organic—and Prowl is protected here, he knows he’s protected. Guarded by something dangerous and worshipful. Even as this boundary-crossing spider is prying into his armor to get at the hollow gaps underneath, even as Prowl is bound tighter and tighter against him, even as he’s buried in the soft caress of more individual strands of violet fur than he can count, he knows—
> 
> Someone kicks him in the arm. “Hwuh?”
> 
> “Geddup,” Long Haul grumbled sleepily. “Tolja m'not havin’ no bug dreams.”
> 
> It took Prowl a moment to process that. “… Mnuh?”
> 
> “You kicked Hook out for having weird dreams,” Long Haul said. “I’m kicking you out. Go on. Get.”
> 
> Prowl stared blearily at Long Haul. “You’re exiling me,” he asked incredulously, “from the pile?”
> 
> “Frag yeah I am. Go.”
> 
> Grumbling half-heartedly, Prowl sat up, unplugged himself from the Constructicons, and plugged Long Haul’s cable into Mixmaster’s jack. Mixmaster scootched over into the spot Prowl had vacated without ever turning on his visor.
> 
> Then Prowl got to his feet and trudged off to find a corner to sleep in.
> 
> 4.1/5 - Prowl has the weirdest boner right now.
> 
> Well—metaphorical boner. The curling cables that were usually coiled up to form his spike were still unraveled from his recharge, dangling between his legs. Excess electrical energy radiated off the curls and made his inner thighs tingle as he walked up the stairs. The bases of his cables shimmered slightly with lubricant from where they’d rubbed against his valve in his sleep.
> 
> The room that had originally been set up with their six separate berths was, of course, unoccupied; so Prowl sat heavily on a berth in the back corner, curled his fingers in his cables to tug them off the floor, and swung his legs up onto the berth. His head flopped back and he turned off his optics.
> 
> But he didn’t untangle his hand from his cables. More charge than he’d anticipated was tickling over his fingers; his wrist, resting between his legs over his pelvis, picked up the excess heat radiating off his valve. He wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep like this.
> 
> And even if he did, what would he dream of? Silken bonds and spider bites? Delicate alien claws tugging at his wires? A voice huskily whispering formulas in Prowl’s audials, letting him calculate for himself exactly what that voice was going to do to him next, oh, god—how long had Prowl’s vents been blowing this high? Perhaps since he’d woken up?
> 
> One hand slowly twisting his cables, the other slid between his legs, a finger running around the entrance to his valve.

Tarantulas

> Recharge time for Prowl? Work time for Tarantulas. One day they’d probably align their schedules to optimize sleep/wake time, but for now they’d just have to settle with shifting and often incompatible states of consciousness.
> 
> The lack of arrangement was actually about to benefit Tarantulas this time though. He’d been typing away diligently at his console, mind actually focused on his work for once, when a quiet ping came up in the notification box. A tap, a glance, and another tap for dismissal. Just another one of his camera feeds tripped for no important rea -
> 
> -  _wait_. What. Tarantulas called the camera feed back up to double check, because no, it  _couldn’t_  be. He’d left the handful of bugs back in Prowl’s apartment fully anticipating them to be somehow disabled or otherwise avoided, but this one - this one was definitely still live, and definitely capturing some  _crucial_ data. 
> 
> It wasn’t the absolute perfect angle, but it was more than sufficient to see what was going on. Prowl, cords and valve laid bare, fans audible over the slight white noise of Noisemaze interference. There was definitely a sheen to his lubricant there - maybe just the lighting - but it made it even more obvious what was going on. 
> 
> Tarantulas immediately checked to make sure the feed was actively recording, then he just stared. And stared. And stared some more.
> 
> A moment more, and then a sudden moral dilemma smacked Tarantulas in the face. He had to forcibly override the repeated requests to disengage his interface paneling in order to keep his mind on task, and by Primus, it was just about the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.
> 
> But the deal was - there was no way he’d be able to live through this situation and face Prowl as if it’d never happened. It was impossible, and he knew it. That left three reasonable options. Shut off the feed in the first place; watch the feed anyway and fess up to him when the time came; or fess up now and pray the whole thing wouldn’t blow up in his face.
> 
> Scrap. Scrap scrap scrap. What should he do.  _What should he do_.
> 
> A shaky breath, one claw intently pressing his interfacing panels down to keep them from transforming out of the way. You’ve got this, Tarantulas.
> 
> «…P-Prowl.  _Prowl_. You - you’ve tripped one of my cam feeds. The ones I left in your apartment.»

Prowl

> The moment Prowl’s comm pinged on, he went perfectly still. He didn’t move at all for maybe ten seconds.
> 
> And then, without so much as turning on his optics, he shuffled his feet around to aim his groin more directly at the camera. And resumed lazily twisting his cords around his fingers and running a finger around his valve.
> 
> If Tarantulas objected,  _he_  could turn off the feed. Prowl wasn’t going to relocate himself inside his own home where he  _should_  have the privacy to do whatever he so pleased.
> 
> However, Prowl sincerely doubted that Tarantulas objected.

Tarantulas

> Ten seconds felt like an eternity. 
> 
> _Please say something. But please don’t be upset, please please -_
> 
> …and there went Tarantulas’ panels, organic exoskeleton transforming out of the way, inner metallic layers quickly following suit.
> 
> That counted as permission, right? Prowl  _had_  to know. He knew the cameras were there, slag, he knew exactly where they were, he might have even done this on  _purpose_ , what a - he  _couldn’t_  be -  _slag_. The very thought sent a rush through Tarantulas’ frame, vents choking on air that was suddenly far too hot.
> 
> Control yourself. He had to draw this out as long as possible, prolong this fever dream somehow. He still wasn’t sure he hadn’t fallen asleep at his console and fabricated this himself - but still. Make it last.
> 
> That meant shifting himself in his chair to get more comfortable, furred claws raking across his own frame in a half-sparked attempt to keep away from his interface array. All it did was collect and direct his charge anyway.
> 
> «I… I wasn’t aware you were this much of a  _tease_.» 

Prowl

> «If it bothers you, I’ll turn the  _other_  way.» He patiently waited for Tarantulas’s vehement protests.
> 
> And in the meantime, his fingers didn’t stop for a moment. Tiny sparks danced around his valve entrance, half-covered by his hand but still visible in the dark room, each brief flash of light leaving a second of pearly luminescence in his lubrication. His thighs twitched slightly as a particularly large spark snapped across the valve opening.
> 
> Somewhere, Tarantulas was watching. That wasn’t typically the type of thing that mattered to Prowl; but when he could still feel the phantom limbs of Tarantulas’s dream doppelganger brushing over him, caressing his sides and digging into his seams and—
> 
> His engine revved lowly. And what was Tarantulas doing now? Prowl could visualize a few scenarios. But what he wouldn’t give to  _see_  it. He had to fight the urge to ask.

Tarantulas

> « _No_.» The response was immediate, but Tarantulas tacked on: «You wouldn’t  _dare_.» A dangerous thing to say, considering Prowl just might take him up on the implied challenge, but he couldn’t help himself.
> 
> Tarantulas would be flattered if Prowl did ask him what he was doing, but no way was he going to offer a video line on his own. There was something tantalizing about being a voice-only voyeur, knowing Prowl had no idea what was going on, leaving it up to his imagination. Just the thought of Prowl  _imagining_  what Tarantulas was up to – he was so tempted to ask what that brilliant mind had come up with, what vivid scenarios and fantasies prompted those sparks to fly.
> 
> Maybe later. Right now Tarantulas was busy scraping his claws up his thighs right along where fur met metal – double the sensors, but two different sensations. Sometimes it was helpful to know every square nanometer of one’s frame; he was playing a finely tuned instrument of his own creation.
> 
> A finely tuned instrument that shuddered and arched back in his seat, his array demanding attention. Oh,  _Prowl_. Tarantulas swallowed a weak moan, gave in, and reached into his subspace.

Prowl

> «Only if you’re bothered with it. I know you’re… sensitive about sexual matters. But if you  _aren’t_  bothered…»
> 
> At last, one fingertip slid into his valve entrance, and he bucked his hips slightly into it—mainly for show. (Was that what he was doing, now? Putting on a show? When had he last done that? … No, actually, not that long ago. Speed-solving Rubik’s dodecahedrons counted.)
> 
> For a little bit, he was content to simply run his finger around the hardline cords running just along the inside rim of his valve. But… well. He was already doing this. Tarantulas was already watching. He’d already gone over the deep end. It wouldn’t hurt now to go a little deeper.
> 
> «Talk to me.»

Tarantulas

> «If I  _were_  bothered, would I still be watching?» A pause. «…Scratch that. I  _am_  bothered, but in the sense that I’d be infinitely upset if you  _stopped_.»
> 
> Many optics tracked Prowl’s every move, watched the finger curl and caress just inside, even as Tarantulas was occupied sifting through his subspace. It was seconds before he’d located a satisfactory toy – a vibrator, simple and effective, and most importantly, well-crafted for use by claw. That was one thing Tarantulas had sacrificed by nixing the hands; self-servicing with servos this size and shape could be challenging at times.
> 
> Tarantulas didn’t even turn the toy on at first. Merely gliding the smooth object along already-slicked valve lips and over retracted spike housing was almost too much to bear.
> 
> …Scrap. Who gave Prowl the right to get even  _more_  frustratingly alluring?
> 
> «Hmn, I’ll have you know I don’t respond well to direct orders. I’m feeling generous though – what would you like? To guide those hands of yours with my words? Paint you a picture of what I’d like to do to you right now? Oh Prowl, you - you’ve  _no_  idea…»

Prowl

> «Heh. No.» Not that he wasn’t curious about what Tarantulas was interested in doing to him—but that wasn’t what he wanted to know right now.
> 
> An odd little paradox of Prowl’s mind: sexual conversation only got him intellectually excited; it took intellectual conversation to get him sexually excited.
> 
> His hands stilled; his fingertip rested just inside the rim of his valve, his cords dangled loosely in his slackening grip. «Tell me about something  _interesting_.» He looked toward the camera. «Something you’re working on. Something—» even now, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say  _brilliant,_  «—something clever.»

Tarantulas

> «… _Really_ , Prowl?» His tone was amused more than anything. «I should have known.»
> 
> Give him a moment to sift through projects for something appropriate. Tarantulas had to make sure he didn’t screw this up by picking something embarrassingly underwhelming…
> 
> «Have I told you what I’m doing with cellular automata? I’m attempting to reverse-engineer organic neural systems by layering three-state automata, but it’s ever so frustrating - I keep coming up with schemas that’re too complex.»
> 
> This was… surprisingly arousing. Tarantulas had always gotten a thrill out of manipulating and sharing his work, but in combination with knowing someone might be getting off to his showing-off and the click of the vibrator coming to life in his claw…
> 
> «I’d send you some files, but…» A quiet moan slipped out. «I’m unsure… Seems to me you’d have to give me a reason to warrant handing over coveted information.»

Prowl

> A thin laugh, more of an amused exhalation. «Yes. You should have.»
> 
> And they were already off to a good start. Prowl’s optics dimmed and hands started moving again as Tarantulas spoke. He idly twisted his cords around each other. «No, you haven’t told me. Not yet.» He had absolutely no idea what Tarantulas was talking about. Perfect. «I don’t have the experience with organic anatomy you do. What’s a three-state automata?»
> 
> At Tarantulas’s moan, Prowl bit back a groan of his own; it turned into a visible shiver instead, making his vents stutter and his doors tremble against the berth. «What sort of reason do you want?»

Tarantulas

> _Score._  Tarantulas had managed to find something apparently impressive enough - that is, enough to get Prowl going again and shuddering against the berth. Technically Tarantulas  _was_  guiding Prowl’s hands with his words, although not in a conventional sense; but the rush of power and influence was still there.
> 
> «It’s not simply organic anatomy - CAs are theoretical models, I’m surprised you haven’t run across them before. Infinite 2D grids, each cell affecting the subsequent state of the eight nearby cells. A three-state consists of on, off, and dying - much like neurons in an organic brain, except the last would be refractory. I’ll - here.» Tarantulas sent him [an example of a CA program](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FBrian%2527s_Brain&t=YTJmYzgwMDYyZjUyODIzZTU1OWI0YTk0NTZhZTkyNTQwYTRjODQxZSxMWWU5dVpBTg%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&m=1), which explained the rules in more detail and provided one visual example.
> 
> A break for Prowl to digest that and react. Tarantulas had no doubt the result would be delectable, and he was patient - he’d waited ridiculously long for something like this in the first place. He  _would_ , however, have to consciously exercise patience with his own array. No attention to his nodes, no pressurizing of his spike, nothing hasty.
> 
> «As for a  _reason_ … we’ll see. Explanation comes first.»

Prowl

> «I see—I’ve seen something like these before.» In fact, he’d used something that looked vaguely similar in some of his calculations—modeling the spread of rumors or diseases. He didn’t know if it was the same thing, because it was something he’d been built with the ability to use, not something he’d learned, and what he used was far more complicated; but, still similar.
> 
> Similar enough that he knew a model like that could be used for a wide variety of things; not similar enough for him to have the first idea what Tarantulas was going to use it for. Probably not, as Prowl had done, for combat strategies and sociological trends. Then what? The possibilities were myriad.
> 
> «What are they for? What are  _you_  using them for?»

Tarantulas

> Not quite the same as contagion models, but you’re on the right track, Prowl.
> 
> «Ah,  _good_ \- so I can move on to the interesting parts.» The parts that were more likely to get Prowl revved up than simplified demos.
> 
> Tarantulas kept his claws motionless while he talked in an effort to keep his voice stable. «I’m meta-layering those BB models to create an AI version of an organic mind. Cells for cells, but the 2D plane warped into an irregular 3D strongly connected component… It’s - it’s defined by a handful of transcendental functions. The hardest part thus far was defining those functions - I can’t have them conflicting or spiraling into oscillators, because then the “thought” doesn’t get anywhere - see?»
> 
> …Wait, why was Tarantulas trying to keep himself composed? Let Prowl hear the tremors in his vocals, it certainly wouldn’t  _hurt_  matters.
> 
> «I’ve.. I’ve got two f-functional models at the moment, but I haven’t touched them in a while.» A little static feedback from the vibrator.

Prowl

> Prowl managed to keep himself together through Tarantulas’s little explanation—for the most part.
> 
> Sure, his hands were moving a little bit faster, his optics and biolights were a little bit brighter, his fans a little bit louder. And why wouldn’t they be? Tarantulas was, just—casually coding up a new form of life.  _Again_. «Yes, I—I see.» His voice was  _nearly_  steady. «How’s your progress? Are they independently intelligent? Have they given off signs of sapience yet? How do they interact with the outside world?» A little bit intense, but he sounded mostly under control.
> 
> And then Tarantulas’s voice trembled and Prowl’s hips bucked uselessly into the air, trying to push into something that wasn’t there. What he wouldn’t give to be able to twist his fingers in the fur of Tarantulas’s thighs and pull him down onto Prowl’s lap… He shuddered again, doors rattling, and for a moment he could picture Tarantulas perched on top of him, hips rocking and many legs curling, mouth open and mandibles splayed as he panted out some miraculous revelation, optics flickering and intense and focused on Prowl—
> 
> But Tarantulas wasn’t here. Instead Prowl thrust a second finger into his valve, dragging his curled fingers along the wires on opposite sides of the entrance. Little threads of electricity raced along the cords pulled tight by his other hand. «What are you going to do with them?» His voice was shakier now, straining with the effort to maintain control. «Create a new species? See how they diverge from their starting conditions and then introducing them to each other? S-synthesize the models with your own processor?» He could feel his lubricant sliding around his fingers and rolling down the plating between his legs. «Can I— _nnh_ —see the functions?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was glad that Prowl’s whole performance was being recorded - there was no way he could devote proper attention to all the precious noises and motions and sparks of charge. In time and with repeated replays, maybe they’d get the worship they deserved.
> 
> A half-whine, half-laugh. « _Don’t_  make me get on my console again. You know  _full well_  my claws are otherwise occupied. …But last I checked, they - _ah_  - they hadn’t developed full sentience or the like. I didn’t want to leave them running unattended, so I don’t have t-too many answers for you, I’m afraid.
> 
> «What I  _can_  say - as soon as I can spend more time on it, I’m going to link the two. Creating novel AIs isn’t a new concept, but meticulously co-developing them isn’t something I’ve seen bef -  _f-frag_ -» …Some cut-off moaning and a clatter.
> 
> His claw had slipped and pressed the vibe against two of his nodes,  _hard_. So much for staying in his chair - he’d jerked and slid off onto his knees on the floor.
> 
> He could work with this though.  _Primus_  yes. A little bit of improvising got the live cam feed displayed directly in his visor and his frame doubled over onto the ground, one arm for shaky support and the other diligently attending to his pleasure. Screw it - restraint wasn’t worth it. He was going to play with his nodes until his extra legs curled and he had his face pressed into the ground.
> 
> « _Pardon_ -  _technical difficulties_ , h-hyeh. I’ll let you have a peek at a function or two… but you - you can’t hold yourself back, Prowl.  _Sh-show me something naughty_.»
> 
> A ping with an extensive yet elegant function. A few moments, then another that entangled with it deliciously (as much as numbers could be said to be delicious).

Prowl

> «F-fair enough. Just… what you can remember. That’s good enough.» For now, anyway.
> 
> For a moment, a brief moment, Prowl was able to just let Tarantulas’s words wash over him, to get into the rhythm of pleasuring himself to that smooth current of new information—and then there was a noise and Tarantulas disappeared. Prowl immediately sat upright, optics flickering on in concern (as if there was anything he could do to help). «Tarantulas?» What happened? Had he hurt himself? Had he fallen? Considering how top-heavy his design was… (And a half dozen extremely creative but horribly off-balance masturbation positions flashed through Prowl’s mind. Maybe it was better he didn’t know what exactly Tarantulas was doing.)
> 
> He sat there until Tarantulas came back, and then flopped back down with a dull clang of relief. «You fell, didn’t you.» A thin, amused smirk. «This would be easier if…» If they were doing this in person. If they didn’t have to bother with words—if they could just plug in and trade data directly. He let the thought go unfinished. He didn’t need to give Tarantulas ideas. No—Tarantulas undoubtedly already had the idea. He didn’t need to let Tarantulas know he  _agreed_.
> 
> «“Something naughty”?» His laugh was slightly wheezy. «I’ve got two fingers up my valve and my hardline cables all over the berth, how much more naughty do you—» and then he got the file, «— _hnnng_.» His engine revved and biolights flashed almost white. The hand that had been in his valve flew to cover his mouth before he could make a noise loud enough to reach the Constructicons, the fingers still twisted up in his cables slammed into his valve, and he started rocking his hips hard into his hand. Sparks crackled and hissed through the lube coating his fingers and cables. Even with his mouth covered and vents roaring and engine growling, his muffled groans were just barely audible.
> 
> He didn’t want to synthesize audio files now; words were complicated and distracting enough, tone of voice was harder still. Instead he switched to text comms: « _More?_ » And then: « _87…_ » « _86…_ » « _85…_ » « _84…_ »

Tarantulas

> « _Hush._  There - there’d be a  _million_  ways this would be easier, but I’ll settle _._  D-don’t lose your focus, Prowl.»
> 
> And focus he did, it seemed. Tarantulas was transfixed too, choking with want - no, need - because  _Primus_  wasn’t that an electric, attractive display. If Tarantulas could do  _this_  to him with just a pair of functions, Prowl had absolutely no idea what was in store for him later on.
> 
> Prowl might need to retreat to text, but Tarantulas was maintaining vocals - he wanted to envelop Prowl in his presence as much as possible. (Without video though. He wasn’t quite ready for that.) « _Hhhah_  - ask  _politely_  next time. I’ll give you a pass for now.» A ping with the next function, a tidier one that slotted neatly perpendicular to the first two.
> 
> «There are  _two_  - two more. If you’d be so  _k-kind_  as to take that hand off your mouth -» A shudder as he upped his vibe’s tempo, his voice going breathless. «- I’ll send another - and I’ll explain -  _hhnn_  - how it works.»
> 
> Notably, it wasn’t as if Tarantulas wasn’t aware of the Constructicons downstairs in Prowl’s apartment. He just didn’t  _care._

Prowl

> « _Please._ » Better late than never.
> 
> In Prowl’s defense, he was typically a bit more discerning in what formulas got him excited. But he’d been revved up before he and Tarantulas had started talking. And he couldn’t remember the last time he so much as got basic algebra during a ‘face, much less calculus. Even Quark, brilliant though he was, seemed to keep a thousand mile gap between his processor and his interface array. It was always tactile, never intellectual.
> 
> But Quark wasn’t here. Tarantulas was.
> 
> The countdown was still going: « _83… 82… 81…_ » Its pace doubled for a dozen digits when Tarantulas sent the next function, and steadied again in the high sixties.
> 
> He cast a worried glance toward the dark doorway, wishing he’d thought to put a shut door between himself and the Constructicons. If he’d known what he was going to be doing…
> 
> They were asleep, they’d known he was revved up, they’d kicked him out because they wanted no part in his being revved up. Odds that any of them would come to help out if they heard him taking care of himself: 17%. He lowered his hand from his mouth, and it immediately shot back down to his groin, twisting up the slack in his cables, running his fingertips over his hardline ports. The countdown dropped five digits and started counting slightly faster.

Tarantulas

> Typically Tarantulas didn’t mix work with play either, but where Prowl was concerned, Tarantulas was  _more_  than willing to blur the line. Seeing how this experiment was going so far, he’d probably be doing it more often now.
> 
> _Good._  That was a good move on Tarantulas’ part, getting that hand freed up again. He was  _definitely_  going to be magnifying in on those hardline ports when he had the chance - hot as frag  _and_  fascinating, considering the difference in location and frame association.
> 
> Prowl’s countdown made Tarantulas tempted to feed back his own, but there was no way he’d be able to pin down determinate numbers. He’d just focus on manipulating Prowl’s for now - oh, what a  _chore_.
> 
> As promised, he pinged the next function. Compiled with the others it warped the hypothetical graph drastically, and yet not enough somehow. «That takes care of the basic flow, but… I thought I’d add in a -  _ahh_  - little something…» A sharp, surprised moan across the commlink, but Prowl would have to guess what prompted it on his own. Tarantulas rushed on as soon as he had the composure, words tumbling out as fast as he could fabricate them.
> 
> «Something - something  _extra_  - I snagged it from a memory purge, s-something recursive - I’d never thought to use a pathological  _fractal_ to stymie the generation of well-behaved cellular  _oscillators_ -»
> 
> … _Pits_. Tarantulas was allowing himself a fraction of the tactile stimulation he was used to and he  _already_ almost couldn’t stand it. Damn Prowl and whatever enigmatic power he had over him - but not really, not actually. Now that Tarantulas had it, there was no way he was letting go of this insanely heady high.

Prowl

> The timer sped up slightly again when he received the file transfer—and dropped several more numbers when Tarantulas let out that  _noise_. Down into the 40s.
> 
> A noise that prompted him to involuntarily follow with his own—a low groan he quickly cut off, hips bucking again into the air.
> 
> « _fractals ?_ » An abrupt jump to the low 30s. Dammit Tarantulas, do you have any idea what fractals do to Prowl. He had to still his hands to slow the pace the numbers were dropping. « _please send._ » He desperately wanted that in his system before he overloaded.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas felt like his spark would give out at the rate things were going - too much charge, too high of an RPM - but he’d cling to the dizzying feeling as long as he could. It was almost a good thing that timer was spiraling down so quickly. And that bit about his legs curling and face against the floor? He was long past that point, his mandibles scraping a little on the hard surface as he ground the vibrator against his valve lips and nodes.
> 
> _Hng,_  perfect. Simultaneously, the ping with the fractal algorithm, and an «Oh  _Prowl_  -»
> 
> The math fit together seamlessly and folded down on itself once the fractal resolved with the other pieces.  _Enjoy._

Prowl

> The final form of the functions was  _exquisite._  Massive and complicated and elegant and an absolute masterpiece. He’d expected nothing less. He dove greedily into the math, submerging himself in Tarantulas’s brilliance.
> 
> Oh, please, say his name like that again. Prowl was so close. He rocked into his hands again, pace redoubled, shaking fingers slipping in his valve, Tarantulas’s functions glittering in his head. His engine was roaring loud enough that his words would be inaudible if he didn’t switch back to speaking over comm. «T-Tarantulas, I—»
> 
> Whatever else he meant to say was cut off by a quickly-stifled groan. He tumbled into overload, gasping, back tensing, valve and hardline cables sparking, optics distant as he traced fractals in his mind. One ped slipped off the edge of the berth.
> 
> His countdown was a little off. He’d overloaded at 4.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas generally scoffed at the idea of partners overloading at the same time. It was a romanticized thought, wishful thinking, and statistically unlikely. It was  _slightly_  more likely that one partner overloading would trigger the other, but still a pretty notion from the glyphs of an erotic novel.
> 
> This was why Tarantulas’ own climax caught him off-guard. He’d watched completely frozen and spellbound as Prowl unraveled, that frantic utterance of his designation overwhelming him with  _something_ , some emotion his circuits hadn’t handled before, he didn’t quite know - and then he tripped and fell headlong down into overload, stuttering and crying out Prowl’s name.
> 
> The buzzing of static and visual noise that rushed in after the peak was so tempting to linger in, but Tarantulas was determined to claw his way out of it to come back to the video feed, the aftermath of Prowl’s overload. This was all about Prowl, after all - his voice, his frame, his pleasure. There was no way Tarantulas would let himself miss a single second of it.
> 
> His voice was winded, laced with interference. «P-Prowl, that was - that was…» …But there weren’t words for it.

Prowl

> Unlikely? Only if it’s left up to random chance. Prowl doesn’t leave anything up to random chance. It’s actually very easy to consistently synchronize, with a bit of practice and some tricks. For example: helpful countdowns.
> 
> Still. First try? Not bad.
> 
> There wasn’t much to the aftermath worth watching. His other ped had slipped off the berth. For a few seconds, his hips continued to twitch, but then went still. He was content to lay there, optics half-dim, vents blasting hot air, watching fractals spin above him as his processor figured out how to work again.
> 
> His voice was a bit breathless. «Uh-huh.» Language functions were low in the queue of things to get back online. He wasn’t even completely sure what he just agreed with, except that Tarantulas had said it and Prowl’s name was involved.
> 
> After a moment, he slid his hands off his interface array so he could prop himself up on his elbows, just long enough to stretch his back, and then flopped back down, arms stretched out. He was hot. «So.» Words, words. «… That was.» Good start, Prowl.

Tarantulas

> Tricks or no tricks, it was still a fairly novel experience for Tarantulas to coordinate things like that. Given time though, he might actually prefer the opposite - better to enjoy the two peaks independently and conjoin the two integrated functions in a greater total sum of pleasure.
> 
> One day, Tarantulas thought absentmindedly, it’d be interesting to have a line in to Prowl not only to heighten the interfacing experience, but also to observe the system reboot process. It could theoretically be a practice in picking his favorite brain module apart in reverse…
> 
> For now though, he’d just slowly sprawl on the floor in a mess of his own making and wonder what Prowl was thinking. Apparently not much - which was acceptable and appropriate.
> 
> A light, hoarse laugh. «Let’s… let’s go with “unexpected.” Not that I’m _complaining_ , believe me… I needed a work break, anyhow…»

Prowl

> Prowl liked it synchronized. It was very time-efficient. And honestly, easier to coordinate: “both at the same time” is a lot easier to arrange than “one and a half minutes apart from each other.” Particularly since (to Prowl’s disappointment), _most_  people couldn’t keep an accurate countdown. But you start talking about integrated functions like that and Prowl will try almost anything.
> 
> «Unexpected,» he repeated flatly. Give him a few seconds to remember what the word means. «Yes. That.» A few more seconds to string together a full set of words, and he added—a touch of humor to his voice—«My sincere apologies for the interruption.»
> 
> He attempted to fish for something underneath his back armor without getting off his back, succeeded only in getting a door stuck in his elbow, gave up, rolled slightly to one side, and finally pulled out his sham-wow. Then he flopped flat on his back again and started cleaning the excess lubricant from between his legs, without bothering to sit up or look at what he was doing. «You haven’t forgot to monitor anything explosive, have you?»

Tarantulas

> Sorry, Prowl - sounds like Tarantulas will have you wrapped around his finger soon enough then. …Err - his  _claw_.
> 
> Hee, Prowl was so cute when his language module wasn’t working. That, and when his coordination was even worse than usual. «Forgiveness granted.» A slight chitter, his attention following Prowl’s hand - of course he’d want to tidy up as soon as possible. Tarantulas… would get around to it sometime. When he got up off the floor. Eventually.
> 
> «Hmhmn - no, no… No benchwork today, strictly console only.» And thank Primus he’d picked today for that day, otherwise he’d’ve missed out on this extraordinary performance. «… _Hyeh_. I’d make a joke… something about explosive personal chemistry or thermodynamics… but I’d hate to ruin the mood. And my processor… I probably couldn’t piece it together anyway.»
> 
> A deep, deep vent. Tarantulas was so giddy and dazed it almost hurt, but he had to pull it together.  _Don’t frag this up now, not after all this. Don’t say anything stupid. You want a second chance at this, don’t you?_
> 
> He wasn’t sure which thought was more delusional - that this wasn’t just a dream, or that he was going to get away with vidcam interfacing with Prowl with no negative consequences.

Prowl

> That was how it started last time, too. With math. That damnable, intoxicating, unbelievably sexy math.
> 
> «I should hope so.» He stretched out the curls in his cables to wipe them clean. It wasn’t a very good job, and he’d have to shower in the morning, but it was the middle of the night and he was tired and he wasn’t even supposed to be awake right now.
> 
> «Ugh. I don’t think I’m up to processing puns yet. I’m not confident I pulled off sarcasm.»
> 
> He lifted his butt slightly, dropped his sham-wow on the lubricant pooled on the berth, and sat on it. There. The mess was “clean.”
> 
> «Well. That—happened.» Unspoken but implied:  _I can’t believe that happened_.

Tarantulas

> Hmmn. Tarantulas certainly wouldn’t have minded cleaning Prowl’s cords off for him instead, a thought that stirred a renewed tingle of charge in his systems. Later, later – on both fronts. Tarantulas didn’t doubt this was just the first of multiple overloads for him for the shift – but  _later._
> 
> A “hyeh.” «The sarcasm was sufficiently readable, no worries.»
> 
> Tarantulas could deduce the implied message in Prowl’s words, since he’d had the same thought himself, but… «It… it certainly did. But, can we… can we wait to have the conversation I’m fairly certain we’re about to have at a later time…?» A proposal he considered more than reasonable.

Prowl

> «Good.» He’d thought it was, but he was the least qualified to tell, wasn’t he?
> 
> Prowl didn’t want to have any big conversations right now anyway. «Fine.» He was still tired and it was still the middle of the night. And he had some thinking to do.
> 
> Tarantulas had passed all the tests. He wasn’t secretly dead. He wasn’t hiding Decepticon propaganda, dark energon caches, or chaos cult paraphernalia. He didn’t react negatively to the Matrix or to Unicron’s spark signature. The only thing he hadn’t finished was the final interview. Yes, he’d answered the Constructicons’ questions right; but they’d asked them so poorly that the answers didn’t mean anything, and Prowl needed to think whether he could salvage that exchange to have another conversation.
> 
> But more and more he had to ask himself whether or not he hadn’t already decided he was going to keep Tarantulas. Maybe he’d decided during the few seconds between Tarantulas’s final formal test and the moment they’d kissed.
> 
> He wanted to keep him. He was ready to keep him. He wanted to tell him that, next time, he wanted this to be in person.
> 
> Prowl swung his legs onto the berth and slid himself up, until he could lean against the wall, preparing to sleep. «I should recharge.»

Tarantulas

> Keep him?  _Keep_  him? Oh Prowl. As if it were your choice, as if you had any say in the matter. Tarantulas was keeping  _Prowl,_  and that had been decided the moment he set optics on him – whether he wanted it or not. The moment Prowl tells him he’s wanting and ready will be the cherry on top.
> 
> «I… thank you.» Without going into the subject, there really wasn’t much more to say, was there? «But yes – do sleep. Fourteen hours may be a lot of recharge, but you needn’t miss any of it.»

Prowl

> Tarantulas could try. But he’d never succeed until Prowl concluded he was going to keep Tarantulas, too.
> 
> He considered whether he should say “you’re welcome” or “thank  _you,_ ” decided neither was appropriate, and just nodded in acknowledgment of Tarantulas’s gratitude instead. He was tired, he shouldn’t risk saying something he might regret later.
> 
> «“A lot" is relative. Not all of us have an eight hour circadian rhythm.» He pulled his knees up to his chest, crossed his arms on top of them, and shut off his optics.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s call was a good one, but then again, wasn’t this whole situation “something he might regret later” anyway?
> 
> «Fair - but if you think I have a consistent circadian rhythm, think again.» A quiet moment as he simply watched Prowl begin to shut down. Maybe one day he’d be right there with him, embracing him from behind, their sparks harmonizing softly together…
> 
> «…Sleep well, Prowl.» More of a pleased purr than a goodbye.

Prowl

> Well, no need to make that worse.
> 
> A sleepy shrug. «Eight-ish,» Prowl amended. The point still stood.
> 
> A wordless ping. Tarantulas was going to watch him sleep, wasn’t he? It wasn’t a comfortable thought—the idea of Tarantulas studying him while he was unconscious and vulnerable. He was too close to recharge to bother switching berths, though.
> 
> On rare occasions, he’d let himself nap around Mesothulas, when he was waiting for some project to wrap up, or lacked the energy to get back to the Autobots. He’d always felt safe. Maybe one day he’d feel safe again.

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas wasn’t  _actively_  going to watch Prowl sleep. He’d have the vid feed up on a side screen though, no doubt.
> 
> A goodbye ping in response, and then he let Prowl be. He had… work to do.
> 
> The first step was deciding whether he’d get up off the floor first or not.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas takes initiative; conversation gets gnarly; the situation resolves incredibly dissatisfactorily.

Tarantulas

> Typically Tarantulas wouldn’t be the one to initiate contact with Prowl if there was something worth avoiding, but apparently Prowl wanted to avoid things even  _more_  intently than he did. That, combined with the weight of being the one who’d delayed the “conversation” (whatever that meant) in the first place, eventually pushed Tarantulas into sending Prowl a ping with an ominous message attached.
> 
> «Are you busy?» A split second later: «…Nono, even if you aren’t you’ll still lie and say you are, that was a useless question. I - we ought to talk. …And you  _know_  I’m going to pester you incessantly until you respond, so it’s in your best interest to do so promptly.»

Prowl

> «Give me a little credit. I wouldn’t lie. I’d just say I don’t want to talk and hang up.»
> 
> He wasn’t doing that today, though—and wouldn’t have even if Tarantulas hadn’t threatened to keep comming. No, this wasn’t a conversation he was eager to have, nor one he would take the first step toward himself; but he wasn’t going to deliberately run away from it. If Tarantulas was asking to talk, then they were going to talk.
> 
> «Well?»

Tarantulas

> A weak “hyeh.” «Maybe I’m projecting. Nevermind then.»
> 
> Alright. He’ll just… dive in, then.
> 
> «Don’t “ _well_ ” me. You know what this is about, Prowl. That… that  _unexpected_ sexual encounter, whatever that was, not that it matters. I get the impression that wasn’t according to your  _plans_ , from the sound of how you were talking before - although it… well. I have my own thoughts on the matter. Suffice to say, I think the terms and nature of our relationship are due for a slight… renegotiation.» 

Prowl

> Yes, yes, he knew what it was about. That didn’t mean he knew what Tarantulas wanted to  _say_  about it.
> 
> But in retrospect, being asked for a renegotiation wasn’t a surprise. Of course. Any opportunity to push an advantage.
> 
> «And I think they aren’t. It seems we’re at an impasse.»

Tarantulas

> «Allow me to reword myself - maybe not so much a  _renegotiation_  as a clarification and discussion thereof. Last time I brought up the subject, all you said was something along the lines of  _leaving things vague_  and some dross about  _properly_  and  _in order_. I don’t - I don’t think that even counts as anything in the first place, and it’s…» An irritated sigh.
> 
> There were a million different directions he wanted this conversation to go, and Tarantulas was probably leading himself down the least appealing one… and he was painfully aware of that. Ergh.
> 
> Why couldn’t they just have comm/vid interfacing again and just blissfully not talk about it? Because Tarantulas wanted  _more_ , that’s why. He wasn’t going to get more by pretending he  _wasn’t_ prying and shoving his way into Prowl’s life - Prowl wasn’t stupid enough to let that happen. 

Prowl

> «Don’t call it dross.  _You_  said we were leaving things vague. I only agreed with your wording. But now that you bring it up again, I’m perfectly content to continue leaving things vague.» You can’t even bring up easy escapes around Prowl. He’ll take them.

Tarantulas

> «No you’re  _not_. You’re not, you’re  _never_  content, not with anything, you just  _-_ » Erghh. No assumptions, Tarantulas, at least not voiced ones. You might be right, but Prowl certainly won’t listen to you like that.
> 
> «…What do you  _want_? No cheating, no lying, no vagueness, no snark. Just a simple straightforward answer for one small question. It won’t  _hurt_  you.»
> 
> Simple, straightforward, small? Pft. More like, what had Tarantulas forgotten to include in his list of no’s…

Prowl

> «Tarantulas, our prior business arrangement was that I would come by you when I need something. Wasn’t it? You wouldn’t have cause to know what I’m like when I’m content.»
> 
> Ugh. A direct question. The seconds ticked by as Prowl tried to figure out how to answer. «… Honestly. No cheating, no lying, no vagueness, no snark—what I want, right now, is to—to not discuss anything. I don’t want to go any farther than we already have. I don’t want to go as far as we  _have_  gone.»
> 
> He’s being very straightforward, and he’s probably not answering the question Tarantulas meant at all.

Tarantulas

> «You know, I don’t even recall if we had  _that_  arrangement.» They might have, but it wasn’t stressed enough to Tarantulas for him to remember it… But in any case, the point was moot.
> 
> Quiet hissing - not aggressively so, but still. «Then why did you  _do_  any of this? I haven’t coerced you into anything -  _you_  chose to interact with me,  _you_  chose to kiss me, to tempt and tease me over vid feed. If you didn’t want any of this -  _why_? Don’t do this to me, Prowl, it’s  _cruel_. And don’t  _lie_  to yourself, or blame some mysterious irrationality.»

Prowl

> Tarantulas was right. Getting close to him one day and then claiming he didn’t want to the next  _was_  cruel. What did Prowl say about it, though? He could hardly admit that the problem was Prowl’s libido was moving faster than Tarantulas’s tests.
> 
> He danced around the edge of the question as he tried to think of a suitable answer. «There’s nothing  _mysterious_  about irrationality. The first time I was—shaken up, by the—that cube signal. The second time I was half-asleep, didn’t realize I was being watched until you commed, and then just…  _went_  with it. In neither situation was I thinking straight. That is an objective fact.»
> 
> There, that would keep Tarantulas occupied while Prowl thought of a better answer. In the meantime, he relocated from his desk to the berth room, so the Constructicons would be less likely to intervene. Which completely defeated the purpose of getting them to keep track of his interactions with Tarantulas in the first place, but—not now. Not this conversation.

Tarantulas

> «There absolutely is something mysterious about irrationality when it has to do with  _you_ , Prowl. You don’t  _do_  irrational. You may have been affected by disorienting circumstances, but they don’t - they’re just  _factors_ , and you’re hiding behind them like full-blown  _excuses_.» A shudder of frustration, with a strange rush of - what was that…? Nevermind, keep talking, keep pressing.
> 
> «You’re  _far_  more intelligent than this, Prowl. The way I see it, either I’m highly overestimating your capabilities, or you’re simply toying with me, and I’m not keen on  _either_ of those being true.
> 
> «What’s going on?  _What do you want_?» A pause, a weak laugh. «I’ve laid out all my cards - you know I’d give you anything you want. You’ve only to speak the words, to ask.»

Prowl

> _You know I’d give you anything you want._  Prowl rubbed his optics. Oh, Tarantulas.
> 
> «What you’re asking for is—is emotional vulnerability. I don’t offer it easily.» But fine. He could offer a slightly better answer, couldn’t he? «I  _act_  rational, yes. This is on purpose. Rationality is a deliberate choice I make, the way other mechs may choose nobility, or anger, or—or passion. But I am not a drone. I am as capable of internal contradictions and conflicting desires as any other mech. And it’s harder to choose to be rational, when my… inhibitions are compromised. So, I—I am more likely to choose something else that I… that I want.»
> 
> An awkward pause. Prowl reviewed his words again. Was that clear enough? Did he  _want_  it to be clear?
> 
> «… My inhibitions are not compromised right now. And what I want—what I want  _most_  right now—is to… not, do all this.»

Tarantulas

> Unfortunately for Prowl, Tarantulas understood him, or at least thought he did. What he found in Prowl’s words was simultaneously thrilling and endlessly annoying.
> 
> « _Prowl_. Listen to yourself. You  _choose_  to be rational? What makes you so confident that that choice is the correct path 100% of the time? You know, sometimes it’s quite rational to be  _irrational_ , to allow yourself a moment to let those internal contradictions play out as they will instead of  _inhibiting_  them - otherwise you’re essentially letting them own you, and I doubt that’s neither what you intend nor desire. 
> 
> «I wasn’t asking what your  _rational self_  wants. I’m asking what  _you_  want. And that includes those things you’re so desperately shying away from right now. Forget  _emotional vulnerability_ \- what I’m requesting is  _honesty_. It’s a two-way thoroughfare, Prowl.»

Prowl

> A jolt of anger shot up Prowl’s fuel line, like an emotional flinch. He shouldn’t be surprised to hear that out of Tarantulas—but it still twinged at old, old wounds. «The rational choice is,  _by definition,_  the one that I calculate has the highest probability of being the correct path. The irrational one is the one that I calculate to be incorrect. It is impossible for the rational choice to be an irrational action. And don’t you dare accuse me of quibbling, or of trying to get off topic—the difference  _matters._  It matters to me, and it matters that you understand it if you want to understand what I’m even saying to you.
> 
> «You’re making a mistake that too many other people make—you’re assuming that  _rational_  is a code word for  _emotionally sterile_ , or _prudish_ , or _repressed._ You’re assuming that  _irrational_  means  _emotional._  That’s not what I mean. That’s the same sort of mindset that leads people to believe that logic and emotions are each other’s opposites, and the presence of one means the absence of another. They’re not. You do yourself a disservice if you believe they are and you do  _me_  an even  _greater_  disservice if you believe that that’s the way I think.
> 
> «Just as you do me a disservice by suggesting I can divorce myself from my rational self. Can you divorce yourself from your curious self?  _Would_  you? Would you still be yourself anymore?
> 
> «There are times when the rational action is the action based on passion.  _This,_  Tarantulas, is not one of those times.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re doing  _me_  a disservice by jumping to conclusions like this, Prowl. It’s - I’m not saying you ought to divorce any part of yourself from yourself, I’m saying you ought to take the  _entirety_  of yourself into consideration, including that rationality. Which means  _not limiting_  yourself to the rational choice, regardless of whether it’s based in passion or in impartiality - don’t impose.. no, don’t  _force judgment_ on every decision you make before you make it! You’re tying yourself up in red tape when you could just  _act_  and be done with it. And - goodness, it’s not wholly because you  _prefer_  it, is it? It’s because you don’t trust yourself do to anything without screening it first. That’s -»
> 
> If that was true, it made so much sense. Sense with respect to Prowl, and with respect to Tarantulas, and basically everything else in Tarantulas’ life. Damnit.

Prowl

> «I  _do_  take the entirety of myself into account! You just don’t want to think I do, because when I do it doesn’t get you what you want.» Cruel? Slightly. But Tarantulas would never be saying this if Prowl had decided the rational decision was to call him over for a quick ‘face, would he?
> 
> «I’m not  _tying myself up in red tape._  I don’t  _limit_  myself to the rational choice, I  _gravitate_  to the rational choice. I know it doesn’t look that way to you. I know that most other mechs have to—to  _suppress_  themselves, in order to try to force themselves to do what’s correct. I would have to suppress myself in order to do otherwise. And I will  _not_  suppress myself just to please someone else. Ever.
> 
> «In me, rationality is not a subroutine—it’s my operating system. To reject the way I view the world and the way I make my decisions is to reject me. And if that’s what you’re going to do… then better we know it now than later.»

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas wouldn’t be having this discussion in that case, but only because it’d be  _delayed_. It’d come about sooner or later, rest assured.
> 
> A moment of silence on Tarantulas’ end while he let his processor turn the violent static of his thoughts into  _new_ hypotheses. He was so  _sure_ he was right - but what if…
> 
> «So you’re saying that the calculation of how rational a decision would be is inherently part of your processing.» A plausible possibility. «…But how does that account for your “inhibitions” and their compromise? Unless I’m misinterpreting it entirely, it sounds like your rational OS is doing the inhibiting -  _why_? What’s wrong with whatever impulse it was that sprung up? How can you function by - in the sense that - you’re constantly  _shutting out_ most everything because it’s irrational instead of - that must take  _so much_  energy, Prowl, it’s hardly efficient to focus effort on the 99% instead of the 1%.  _How_.»

Prowl

> Tarantulas just… accepted it? Just like that? No assumption he was speaking metaphorically, no accusation that he was trying to dodge the issue? Just acceptance and an attempt to comprehend it? Prowl’s spark pulsed.
> 
> «… Not just how “rational.” Reducing it to one aspect makes it sound like it’s only one thing. I calculate how…  _everything_  a decision is. I—calculate trajectories. That’s what I do. It isn’t restricted to physical bodies in motion. If you’ve calculated the exact trajectory that’s necessary for an object to hit the target you want to hit, would you throw the object in a different direction?»
> 
> What if the reason Tarantulas had “accepted” it was because he was already pathologizing Prowl? He knew so much about so many other subjects—how well-read was he in psychology? What if he thought—
> 
> «This is irrelevant. I shouldn’t have to explain how my brain works just to get you to accept a decision I’ve made. It should be enough for you that I’ve made it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t  _necessarily_  accepting Prowl’s word. He was entertaining it, testing it, feeling out the implications of its realization. He’d believe Prowl eventually if the claim held, just like any other scientific theory - except this theory just so happened to concern his favorite subject matter.
> 
> Voracious questions piled up one after the other as he listened to Prowl’s explanation. How did he  _know_  the trajectory was the right one? Where did he get the quantitative data from in the first place? How did he know what he  _wanted_  to hit even before  _that_? Why did he feel so  _compelled_  to -
> 
> But Prowl cut everything short. Of course.
> 
> «It’s  _not_  irrelevant - I want to  _understand_. You haven’t even made a decision as far as I’m aware - all you’ve stated is that you don’t want to do “all this,” whatever  _that_  means. What you’re doing right now is shooing me off and shouting “ _because I said so_ ,” as if it justifies a complete cessation of communication! I haven’t done anything to warrant that, as far as I’m aware - or am I  _wrong_?»

Prowl

> «I’ve made a decision to not want to engage in this right now. Which includes not wanting to talk about it. Any of it. I’ve given you  _this_  much because I’m trying to be fair to you, but… I don’t want to talk about any more.»

Tarantulas

> «…I  _haven’t_  done anything to warrant this.» Tarantulas was fairly certain of that, which only left a bitter taste in the back of his intake.
> 
> «Well then. What in the world is supposed to happen  _now_? It sounds as if we’ll simply be wandering about with our optics offline and arms outstretched, trying our best not to knock each other over.  _Oh_ \- forgive me.  _I’ll_  be the only one with my optics disabled.» An unnecessarily barbed metaphor, but…
> 
> «I’ve received your message loud and clear. I’ll leave you be, then. Contact me when you’ve decided you want to.» ….If  _ever_.

Prowl

> Nothing to warrant this?  _You helped me bomb civilians,_  Prowl wanted to say.  _You listened to me say “I’m going to bomb civilians” and you went “great, I’ll make the bomb,” and that alone is justification enough for anyone to be wary around you._  He couldn’t say that. Partially because he knew full damn well that even though it was true, that was a perfectly good reason for anyone to be wary around Tarantulas, that wasn’t why  _Prowl_  was wary around Tarantulas.
> 
> He was wary because something that an entirely different Tarantulas might have done. And he had to remain wary until he was completely, absolutely sure that this Tarantulas wouldn’t do it too.
> 
> So. Prowl  _hoped_  Tarantulas hadn’t done anything to warrant this. For now, he wouldn’t argue. Let Tarantulas be miffed. Prowl was hiding things from him and anyone had a right to be miffed when they were being kept in the dark about matters concerning their own future.
> 
> But, perhaps… a little mercy. «… I’ll contact you soon,» he said. «I can—we can make progress. I…  _want_  to make progress. I want to… be able to—do things. With you. I only need a little bit longer, to prepare.»

Tarantulas

> The only way Prowl would know that Tarantulas hadn’t hung up on him was the absence of a  _click_. Otherwise - silence, breathless silence.
> 
> A strangled iteration of Prowl’s name, then: «… ** _Don’t_** …»
> 
> How  _dare_. How  _dare_ Prowl trip over his words like that. How  _dare_ he shine a light, bait him like this. How  _dare_ he have the gall to say - after all he’d been - “ _we can make progress_ ” - “ _I **want**_ ” - Prowl  _wanted_  - to  **prepare**? -  _no_  idea what that meant, what Prowl meant, what Primus-damned hurdles - Tarantulas  _had_  to know what was going on, what was holding Prowl back, so he could terminate it with extreme prejudice and finally,  _finally_  -
> 
> Prowl thought he was being  _merciful_? Far, far from it.

Prowl

> «… What?»
> 
> He had the sinking feeling he’d said something wrong. Wasn’t this what Tarantulas wanted, though? Didn’t he  _want_  to make progress? Hadn’t he been asking all this time for them to make progress, for Prowl to trust him more? Why this ominous  _don’t_  when Prowl was finally offering that?
> 
> «Don't—what? Don’t make progress? Don’t contact you?»

Tarantulas

> _Don’t - don’t you **dare**  string me along like this,  **that’s** what._
> 
> «It’s -  _exclamation_. Not a command. Do you - do you still wish for me to leave you alone.»

Prowl

> «… I don’t know what just happened.» That’s about as open and honest as Prowl has been this whole conversation.

Tarantulas

> And it just so happens that it’s the  _least_  useful time for Prowl to be open and honest. Much appreciated.
> 
> «It - doesn’t matter.» A stilted, wavering tone - it was obvious Tarantulas was restraining something rather viciously. «My question still stands.»

Prowl

> The words and the tone were definitely at odds. The tone would be a lot harder to pick apart than the words, and Prowl didn’t have the energy for that right now; he’d used it all up on this conversation. He’d have to just go by Tarantulas’s words.
> 
> «I’d… like to be left alone right now. Yes.»

Tarantulas

> Good choice. Best to handle Tarantulas in small doses.
> 
> «Very well.» …What else should he say?  _We’ll be in contact_? Just a simple goodbye? A ping? An actual explanation, or maybe some sort of apology? For what, even? This whole mess was… it was  _Prowl’s_  fault. Let  _him_  deal with that.
> 
> «Go - go  _prepare_  as you see fit. I’ll be -  _standing by_.»

Prowl

> That would make two of them wrestling with the urge to apologize.
> 
> «Very well. I’ll let you know.» A pause; and then he added, tentatively, «This… should be the last thing. If it—if it goes right.» He didn’t know if that helped. The first time he’d tried to reassure Tarantulas, it had obviously made things worse. But he thought he had to make an effort, and he doubted he could make things much worse.

Tarantulas

> Cryptic hints about  _preparations_  and  _things_  that had to go  _right_ , on top of Prowl actively admitting he wanted things to move forward? As much as Tarantulas desperately wanted to know what was going on, it was almost  _too_  painful to wait for it - because in the meantime, what he’d been hoping to coax out of Prowl all along, a confession, a concession, some sort of emotional response, was visible in coy glimpses behind veils and curtains. Primus  _damn_  you, Prowl.
> 
> «…There’s… nothing I can  _do_ , with whatever this is?»

Prowl

> «… Not until then. But—you want me to trust you. This will give you an opportunity to obtain that.»

Tarantulas

> Some  _thing_  or event that was supposed to make Prowl trust him more. A test. Well, at least now Tarantulas had a conversation riddled with tiny clues he could use to do some preparing himself too.
> 
> «Understood. …That is to say, I utterly  _don’t_  understand, but I’ll - I’ll simply have to _live with it_.»

Prowl

> «I can’t properly explain it now. But, soon. Until then, I’m… sorry. For the secretiveness, and the uncertainty.»

Tarantulas

> And now an  _apology_. Kind of. It was like Prowl was dead-set on drowning him in his own desperately confused frustration.
> 
> «I take it the “sorry” is meant as a… an emotional statement, not an apology.» Although even if it  _were_  an apology, Tarantulas wouldn’t accept it.
> 
> …Lies. He’d take most anything he could get from Prowl at this point.

Prowl

> Puzzled pause. «Could you elucidate on the difference?»

Tarantulas

> An exvent. «The former… it’s an expression of, of  _sympathy_. Feeling bad. The latter would be more invested. If you were  _that_  sort of sorry for all this, you’d make some effort to rectify the situation. But you’re  _not_ , you don’t currently  _regret_ what you’re doing enough to deviate from whatever plan you have.» 

Prowl

> «You don’t think an apology counts as an apology if the action is regretted but still deemed necessary?» A pause, as Prowl thinks that over. «… Then I suppose, by that definition, it’s an emotional statement.»

Tarantulas

> Nope. That’s what they mean when they say you’re not  _really_  sorry.
> 
> «I - thought as much.»

Prowl

> There were different kinds of sorry. Prowl was fairly certain that Tarantulas wasn’t giving him credit for the kind he  _was_  using. Now wasn’t the time to argue it though. Who would he be helping if he tried to insist that he was more sorry than Tarantulas thought he was—Tarantulas or himself?
> 
> «… I’ll keep you updated.»

Tarantulas

> Why should Tarantulas give Prowl credit for simply making an emotional statement? If anything, he thought Prowl  _deserved_  to feel sorry for what he was doing. Tarantulas was internally adamant he hadn’t done anything to warrant this; if  _he_  had to suffer, so should Prowl.
> 
> «Noted.» Tarantulas was about to issue a curt farewell ping, but lingered despite himself. He knew he’d want to ask eventually anyway. «…Do I have permission to contact you as desired, or am I  _blanket-banned_ until you’ve finished _prepping_?» 

Prowl

> He thought he deserved to feel sorry too. He thought he  _did_  feel sorry. Clearly they disagreed.
> 
> «… If you  _need_  something.» He wasn’t going to ban Tarantulas from contacting him if his base was exploding or he was having a panic attack in a large crowd or anything of the sort. «Interruptions could throw me off.»

Tarantulas

> For once, the two mechs were actually on the same page. Tarantulas just thought Prowl didn’t feel sorry  _enough_.
> 
> «I’ll try to restrict myself to emergencies, then.» …Should he have tagged that for sarcasm? Eh, it didn’t seem important enough to warrant a disclaimer. He’d have to work on figuring out when he  _did_  need tags…
> 
> But - hm. Tarantulas wondered what Prowl meant by not wanting interruptions. Was that just an excuse to push him away, or was whatever he was planning  _that_  involved…?

Prowl

> He’ll emotionally self-flagellate once he’s got what he needs.
> 
> «Good.» He didn’t hear the sarcasm. Sorry Tarantulas.
> 
> What was left to say? He’d already told Tarantulas as much as he could about upcoming plans. He’d already said he’d contact him again later. He’d stalled as much as he could.
> 
> So… a farewell ping.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had no more left to say than Prowl did. Well - he had  _plenty_  to say, plenty to ask, plenty to accuse, plenty to try and tease out, but it’d be futile to act on right now. Besides, he was far from peak performance at the moment. He’d pry another time.
> 
> For now, an echoing ping.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bah humbug! ...But not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Constructicons slipped Prowl's name into a Secret Santa exchange; Tarantulas slipped his own name in willingly, for fun.

> It’s time for Secret Santa! You’ve been assigned to give a gift to Prowl this year. Santa swears on his little organic life that that's what the random number generator said, no funny business or re-rolls. You have this week to decide what would be least hellaciously awkward to give him and to get or make a gift, and then send the gift on December 24, 25, or 26. He doesn't like Christmas. Good luck.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas got  **Prowl** as his Secret Santa recipient.  _He got Prowl_. What were the odds of that happening, even? No - don’t get caught up calculating and marveling over that. Start thinking about  _what to make_ …
> 
> However, his buzzing excitement took a great hit after [these](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/154686583629/to-whoever-has-received-me-for-this-secret) [anonymous](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/154692114679/txt-your-secret-santa-gift-giver-politely) [interactions](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/154694379304/txt-your-secret-santa-gift-giver-is-willing-to). Prowl didn’t  _want_  a gift, not even if he didn’t have to  _give_ one. Primus damn it all,  _why_? Something to do with “not our holiday,” “tried to kill” something something. Excuses, excuses.
> 
> txt: «Your gift-giver relinquishes the holiday connotations and removes you from the unwanted activity; what in this still prevents Prowl from accepting a parcel?»
> 
> Little did he know that this time he, err. Accidentally attached a tiny chunk of his freq. ID to the comm in his haste to get the “anonymous” message back to Prowl. Good job, genius spide. It’ll take Prowl milliseconds to pare down his contact list to a designation.

Prowl

> And milliseconds it does.
> 
> « _You?!_ » A frustrated groan. «Of course. Of course! It had to be you. The one person who likes me enough to want to give me a gift  _and_  who disrespects me enough to ignore me when I say I don’t want one. Great. Fantastic.» Prowl would have assumed Tarantulas had put Prowl’s name in just so he could do this if the Constructicons hadn’t already confessed.
> 
> «I told you what’s preventing me:  _I don’t want one._  That should be enough, but no. No, not for you. Because the fact that you want to give me a gift is more important to you than the fact that I don’t want one, isn’t it? I don’t want one  _because_  we’re blatantly ripping off a religious ceremony we don’t understand from a species we tried to kill because we want a cheap excuse to exchange gifts. Is  _that_  clear enough?
> 
> «What  _is_  it about this one little alien holiday that makes people outright harass people that don’t want to celebrate it?  _Why_  is everyone so up in arms about the fact that I don’t want to participate?  _None of us follow this religion._ »

Tarantulas

> _Kssshkt_  - ! …And there Tarantulas thought he could go a week without breaking a piece of glassware. Apparently not.
> 
> «I’m not  _harassing_  - I was  _given_ -» A bit of clumsy inarticulation. Not only had he somehow de-anon’d, but also, Prowl was actively  _angry_ …?
> 
> « _I’m sorry_  - until a few moments ago I was under the impression I was participating in a well-meant, voluntarily-joined  _game_. Give me - Primus - give me some slack, I’m not going to  _force_  a gift on you, that’s the antithesis of the whole thing! I simply didn’t - how could I have known you’d be this  _outraged_?
> 
> «And I’ll have you know, not  _all_  of us are responsible for the weight of our entire blasted species-civilization. That - I know it’s not a  _counterargument_ , but for goodness’  _sake_ , Prowl.»

Prowl

> … Ugh. Prowl sat back and rubbed his optics. Tarantulas was right. Until a few minutes ago, he’d had no reason to suspect that Prowl might not be utterly delighted to participate in this little exercise.
> 
> «I’m sorry. Sincere apology. I’m having a bad week, I’ve been harassed for the past three weeks over not wanting to participate in an alien holiday, and at the peak of juggling multiple projects I was signed up for this against my will because the Constructicons wanted a free gift—and I took it out on you. That was wrong.»

Tarantulas

> _Whhhoa_. Well, that was a bit of a whiplash.
> 
> «It’s - accepted, certainly, but I’m still  _mystified_. Why have people been hounding you over  _this_? And I thought you were essentially gridlocked as far as projects went? …Or is it “preparations,” hmn.»
> 
> Hesitation, and then a bit of mumbling: «I’m not going to lie and say I’m not…  _disappointed_ , to say the least. There has to be  _some_  way I can - I already thought of something, and I…»

Prowl

> «Some preparations, some projects. … You already know of one.» Preparing for Tarantulas. «I don’t know why they’ve been hounding me. Apparently it’s  _inconceivably offensive_  to not want to participate in an alien holiday.»
> 
> An uncomfortable pause; and he asked, «You haven’t already prepared anything, have you?»

Tarantulas

> «I see.» As much as Tarantulas wanted to pry on the subject, he wasn’t touching it with a ten foot pole at the moment. He didn’t exactly trust Prowl not to explode on him again for little to no reason.
> 
> «Well, I imagine if you approached them in a manner similar to the one with which you just approached  _me_ , it might contribute to raising their hackles. But I - well, if it’s been  _weeks_ , I can’t exactly blame you for lashing out. All in all though, it’s honestly just a  **trivial** little thing, it’s not worth causing an all-out ruckus about.
> 
> «I…  _may_  have started piecing something together, hyeh.» Unseen, he rubbed the back of his neck. That was most definitely an understatement.

Prowl

> «I  _was_  polite to them. My patience wore out. You were the last straw.»
> 
> Do you hear that thunk, Tarantulas? That’s Prowl’s head hitting his desk. Why.  _Why._  He wasn’t ready for this. Even setting aside the fact that this is a Christmas thing—he’s not ready to trust Tarantulas. He’s about to tear his head apart to find out if he can trust him. How can he do this  _now?_  How can he accept a gift from Tarantulas right before torturing him?  _He doesn’t deserve that._
> 
> «… How much effort have you put into it.»

Tarantulas

> A snort. «Fair enough. Hopefully now that this is accounted for, they’ll cease pestering you.» Accounted for, but far from resolved.
> 
> «And, err… probably too much for your liking. But it’s not  _that_ complicated of a gift. It’s… well.  _Spoilers_.»

Prowl

> «I’m fairly certain they won’t. They never do.»
> 
> Prowl sighed heavily. Probably so. «… I wish you wouldn’t.»

Tarantulas

> A sympathetic noise. «…What if you scanned and temporarily blocked frequencies that mention Christmas or gifts? Or at the very least refrain from engaging with them. Feeding the flames and all that.»
> 
> An awkward apologetic laugh. «I’m aware. It’s… well, how about a  _compromise_. I won’t create the tangible manifestation of the gift, but you have to accept the essence of it. You’ll thank me later, I promise.»

Prowl

> «… I don’t like just… ignoring comms. But I may have to.» It might be the only way to get them to shut up.
> 
> «I object to the essence of it. The tangible manifestation of the gift is a mere physical object, which has little meaning. The essence is where we get into the fact that it’s a stolen holiday from a species we tried to eradicate. General “we,” I know  _you personally_  weren’t involved.» Before Tarantulas protested that again.

Tarantulas

> «You can do it, Prowl. I  _believe_ in you.» 
> 
> A grumbling sigh. He appreciated being excepted, but the rest of it… «You’re aware I was using the holiday as a convenient excuse for giving you a gift in the first place. I don’t  _actually_  celebrate the holiday, nor do I have any ties to it whatsoever, aside from the fact that I know what it  _is_. Which - notably, it has next to nothing to do with religion, by the way.»

Prowl

> «That’s  _exactly_  the problem: we’re using someone else’s holiday as a _convenient excuse_  to give gifts, when we don’t celebrate or have ties to their holiday. And it’s literally called  _Christ mass._  It’s a Christian religious ceremony.»

Tarantulas

> «But I’m  _dropping_  the holiday connotations, like I said before. If you’d like, I could sort through my native Cybertronian holidays and find something chronologically proximal to blame instead…? But in all honesty, I’d rather you be able to accept a gift no matter the context. It’s a gesture of - of good will.» Yes. That’s  _exactly_  why he wanted to give Prowl presents.
> 
> «And it may have originated as such, but these days it’s devolved into a Western commercial holiday centered around the fictional Santa Claus figure and the gifts he delivers. Oh, and decorations and foods. By which I mean to imply, it’s essentially a dressed-up copy of most  _any other_  holiday from  _any other_ civilization.» 

Prowl

> « _Good will._ » Was that what Tarantulas was calling it. «… No. This whole span of time has been… tainted, by associating it with the Earth holiday. I don’t want to get anything any time around now. I’ll know it was originally a Christmas thing.» And he didn’t want anything from Tarantulas, specifically, right now, with what he was about to do.
> 
> « _You’ve_  never met a practicing Christian. Regardless—religious or secular, convergently evolved with other holidays or not, it’s not ours to play around with.»

Tarantulas

> «…That’s not  _fair_.» Obvious pouting. As much as Prowl didn’t want to get a gift from Tarantulas, the spider wanted to give one to him even more. You’ll have to excuse him for not knowing the secret details behind Prowl’s reluctance. «My gift isn’t even a gift really anyway. Can I just  _tell_  you?
> 
> «How do  _you_  know I haven’t met a practicing Christian, hmm? And I - well. We oughtn’t get into a discussion about “appropriate appropriation,” I think it’s been thoroughly articulated that we’re not participating in the holiday.»

Prowl

> « _What’s_  not fair? I don’t think it’s fair that my name was put into this without my consent in the first place. I don’t think it’s fair that I have to be burdened with some  _thing_  I didn’t want. I don’t think it’s fair that Cybertronians are benefiting from a human creation when all we gave them in return was destruction. I don’t think it’s fair that you’re trying to ask like I’m personally inconveniencing you because I don’t want a gift.» He sighed. «No. I don’t want you to tell me. I’m sure you’re going to find some excuse to give it to me someday, and I don’t want stealing holidays from humans to be what I think about when I receive it.
> 
> «I know you haven’t met a practicing Christian because if you had, you’d know it’s still a religious ceremony for many humans. I don’t know whether or not taking it is inappropriate; but I—if you’ll pardon the poor phrasing—I  _feel_  like it’s inappropriate. And no humans have told me anything to the contrary, so I don’t want anything to do with it.»
> 
> «… Why  _“we’re”_? I don’t want to participate in it myself, that doesn’t mean I’m trying to ban everyone  _else_  from participating. You volunteered because you wanted to. I have the name of the mech I was assigned—I can give it to you, and you can get him a gift. There’s no reason for you to lose the opportunity to give a gift just because you had the misfortune of being stuck with me.»

Tarantulas

> « _Hush_ , more than one thing can be unfair at the same time, for different people especially. Although I’ll concede that your situation is  _slightly_  more unfair.
> 
> «…I’m not  _really_ … I only want to… Rrghh…  _Too bad_ , I’m telling you anyway. It’s just a set of comm codes for certain favors to be completed without question. See, it’s not  _really_  a gift. Simply - a  _privilege_.
> 
> «I meant “we” in the sense that - between the  _two_ of us. I’m still more than willing to take your recipient. You ought to give me that name sooner rather than later, by the way.» 

Prowl

> «I know they can. I didn’t want you to forget.»
> 
> A moment of silence; and then a text. « _I muted the comm the moment you said “I’m telling you anyway.” If you tell me, I don’t care WHAT it is, when I get it I WILL THROW IT AWAY. Save it for a holiday we didn’t steal from another planet. I told you I don’t want to know. RESPECT THAT._ »

Tarantulas

> _Noooooo._  Tarantulas was  _certain_  Prowl would accept his gift if he actually heard what it was. Alas.
> 
> txt: « _No spoilers_ \- but it’s not something you can throw away, not even really a  _gift_. But I’ll refrain from giving or mentioning from now on. Consider the matter settled. Come back on voice comm, please…?»

Prowl

> Prowl was certain he wouldn’t. And he  _wanted_  to. And therefore he didn’t want to hear it.
> 
> « _You lost voice privileges by flat-out ignoring my request._ »

Tarantulas

> And he’d even said “please,” damnit…
> 
> txt: «You’re being -  _nevermind._  …You ought to give me the designation you were assigned so I can prepare.»

Prowl

> « _So are you._ »
> 
> Prowl pinged him a comm frequency. « _He likes fiddling with unknown mechanical objects. Under the terms of the Tyrest Accord, right now, we have to assume that multiversal Cybertronians do not count as Cybertronians. So don’t send him anything we wouldn’t be allowed to send aliens._ »

Tarantulas

> No, no he’s absolutely  _not_. (Being petulant; that’s what he wanted to say.)
> 
> txt: «Hyeh, well he’s got quite the fitting proxy gift-giver now. I’ll limit myself by the Accord, then - although,  _your_ version of the Accord, you mean?»
> 
> txt: «…There’s no point in asking to discuss anything further, is there.» 

Prowl

> « _Mine. I don’t know what yours is like._ » Although now he wanted to know. Now wasn’t the time to ask. Ping—a copy of Prowl’s version of the Tyrest Accord.
> 
> Oh, Tarantulas. Prowl wished. « _Only if it’s important business._ »

Tarantulas

> txt: «Noted.» An unconscious shift back to voice comm. «Alright… this… shouldn’t be  _too_ hard…»
> 
> A sigh, which he then realized  _was_  audible to Prowl. Oh well. Maybe Prowl would switch back over too - if Tarantulas could find a reason to continue the conversation.
> 
> But did he actually  _want_  to continue? Talking with Prowl lately had been hitting his head up against one brick wall after another. Then there was supposed to be some  _test_ , too. Maybe he ought to just wait this out until whatever the hell was going on right now reached some sort of climax. As much as he knew it would pain him, it might actually be optimal in the long run…
> 
> «Nothing relevant to you, I suppose.»

Prowl

> « _Then I should go_.»
> 
> A pause. « _I should be ready in three days. But I can’t promise it right now._ »

Tarantulas

> «…The approximation is appreciated regardless.» Simultaneously shorter and longer than Tarantulas had thought it’d be. Workable.
> 
> «You know, if you keep making vague, abstruse hints after  _whatever_  this is goes down, I - I  _may_ just lose the last shreds of my fraying sanity.»

Prowl

> « _After this, I won’t need to._ » Pause. « _Was that a vague abstruse hint? It wasn’t meant to be._ »
> 
> He sighed quietly to himself. « _If it helps at all, the approximation isn’t because of anything under my control. I start work for Starscream soon. I can guess at what my schedule will be like in a few days, but I don’t know._ »

Tarantulas

> «Yes, yes it was. You’ve got a pass for now, but I swear to Primus…» Some weak laughter.
> 
> «Oh - I see, I see. Renovation projects, correct? You ought to let me know once you do have an actual schedule.» At least that’d be a solid schedule for  _one_  of them.

Prowl

> « _Rebuilding, more accurately. Right now, my schedule is this._ » He sent Tarantulas a picture. It was a blueprint, although that was hard to tell, what with the fact that it was completely buried under solid layer of Constructicon criticism. « _I should have been done days ago. I should go._ »

Tarantulas

> Another sympathetic noise at the sight of the blueprint. «Make  _them_  do the work then, if they’re that critical. I’d offer to help as well, were you open to it, but somehow I doubt it.» 

Prowl

> He started to type two different messages, deleted them, and settled on « _This is something I have to do._ »

Tarantulas

> The pause was long enough for Tarantulas to wonder what Prowl was thinking, but the resultant statement closed off whatever that had been. Alas.
> 
> «Understood… I think.» A beat. «…Do let me know how the construction efforts go, at least before I see you next.»

Prowl

> « _You’ll probably see on the news._ » Locked-up terrorists being put to work repairing the damage they caused themselves. The Iacon Communication Service was eating it up. « _Don’t read the comment sections._ »

Tarantulas

> «First of all, you’re laboring under the delusion that I actively keep track of current events. Secondly, why should I ever trust the news to give me an accurate picture of what’s  _really_  happening? I’d rather hear from the source, especially when I’m somewhat invested in hearing  _his_  perspective.»

Prowl

> « _I am a cop pretending to be a construction foreman. I’m not going to have the energy to give you the news from the source. I shouldn’t be taking the time to talk NOW. I should go._ »

Tarantulas

> A disappointed sigh. « _Please_  take the time to care for yourself. Optimal functioning and all that. I’ll - speak to you soon.»

Prowl

> « _I’m trying._ » A farewell ping.

Tarantulas

> Hesitation… then a reciprocal ping.


	23. Final Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations come to fruition; a terrible time is had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: _super_ long chapter, also irregularly formatted because we rp'd it real-time in a chat window. The whole thread took three IRL days to complete... whew! Anything preceded by (S), (P), or (T/M) is directed solely at the initialed party; otherwise it's to all.

Prowl: *comm ping for Tarantulas*

Tarantulas: «…Prowl? What is it - updates, or…?»

Prowl: «No. If you’re ready, I’m available for that last—er—thing. With you.»

Prowl: «The Constructicons asked you some questions. They were questions I was going to ask, and they did an extremely poor job. I need to correct their errors.»

Tarantulas: «…Correct their errors. How do you intend on doing that, by reiteration? But no - you had to prepare, this is - well. I suppose I’ll find out.»

Tarantulas: «What ought I to do?»

Prowl: «Reiteration. Roughly. I’ll explain when I’m there. Are you available now?»

Tarantulas: «Yes - and no, I don’t have any potentially explosive reactions going. …Where’s “there”?»

Prowl: «Where I always come in. The front door.»

Prowl: *No giving Tarantulas time to object. He activates his holomatter avatar, at the coordinates just inside the entrance he always used into Tarantulas’s lab. Hopefully the entryway is still there.*

Tarantulas: *good thing Prowl used coordinates just inside - otherwise he’d be in a pile of rubble. The hallways and structure inside are barely still there but enough to navigate to where Prowl knows Tarantulas should be*

Tarantulas: «You can’t - what!?» *some scrambling - is that what Tarantulas thinks it means*

Tarantulas: «Of COURSE you’d have - naturally. Alright, but - where would you like to specifically meet?»

Prowl: *for a moment, he doesn’t move; the last time he was here, it was to order the place torn apart. there are still hints of rubble that he knows aren’t from Cybertron’s reconstruction. oh, Mesothulas.*

Prowl: *no. lock that away. get walking.* «I’m at the stairs. Are you going to come greet me or am I coming to you?»

Tarantulas: *spark almost stops. How many times had he walked down stairs just like the ones here* «I… I’ll be there in a moment. You might get to the lab first, if that’s where you’re intending.»

Prowl: «If that’s where I’m going to find you, then yes.»

Tarantulas: «Very well.» *shakily he starts dropping things so he can get to Prowl. It’ll take him a minute. In the meantime, a single 5ft mechanical frog guards the lab area, hopping around*

Prowl: *ah. yes, prowl heard about these pests.* … Hello.

Tarantulas: *frog stops when Prowl comes in. Stares. Stares some more. Tarantulas remotely turns off its alarms and stuff. Frog still stares*

Tarantulas: *the frog sees ALL*

Prowl: *crouches down to look at the frog.* Is there any sort of A.I. in you, or are you completely insentient?

Prowl: *he’ll take this distraction. it’s better than looking around the far-too-familiar lab. Everything that’s the same hurts and everything that’s different hurts too.*

Tarantulas: *frog stays put unless Prowl aggresses. Does not attempt to communicate, even though it DOES have AI, thank you very much. Mostly just a guard. One of the earlier prototypes*

Tarantulas: *even though Prowl’s hidden leg magnets are holo, the frog still spots and mlems at them. Give the frog the magnets. Praise*

Tarantulas: *on the other side of the room, the portal activates*

Prowl: *what. what is the frog sticking its tongue out at? follows its gaze to under a crack in Prowl’s armor.*

Prowl: *reaches under and pulls out a little star magnet; shows to frog?*

Tarantulas: *mlem. The magnet is now in the frog’s tum*

Prowl: *oh.* … You realize that’s imaginary.

Tarantulas: She doesn’t, in fact. *Tarantulas steps out of the portal with the Noisemaze swirling surreally behind him* But that’s helpful information for me. Holo? What specs?

Prowl: Classified. *stands up.* You’ve seen my avatar before. *it’s the one he wears to movie nights; white paint instead of green, shorter and slimmer and less bulky than his current frame.*

Prowl: *glances at the portal; recognizes that swirl* … You’ve been in /there/?

Tarantulas: Just because I’ve seen it before doesn’t mean I know much about it, but I suppose now isn’t the time. *looks behind him* Ah - hyeh. Yes. Technically speaking.

Prowl: *that’s Highly Alarming, but okay. Prowl will file that away to deal with later.* … Hm.

Tarantulas: *approaches, keeps respectable distance for once* Yes, “hm.” Now… *looks around - places to sit?*

Tarantulas: *rubble doesn’t seem that comfortable but there’s only one hammock otherwise*

Prowl: *Prowl’s perfectly willing to do this standing. Starts talking while Tarantulas is looking around.* All right. Here’s how this is going to work.

Prowl: I have some serious questions about your potential work and your intentions. Some of them, the Constructicons already brought up.

Prowl: Unfortunately, that means it’s conceivable that you’ve worked out what my concerns are, and convincing lies to assuage them. We both know that at this stage I do not trust you.

Prowl: Therefore, the only reasonable way to resolve the issue is to remove the issue of trust entirely.

Tarantulas: *narrowed optics. Of course. The trust thing.* …How, might I ask?

Tarantulas: *already piecing things together*

Prowl: I want to invite Soundwave here. I’ll ask you questions. You’ll answer as best you can. He will look into your head to verify your answers, and report what he finds to me.

Prowl: … You have the right to refuse, at any point—now or once we’ve started. But, this is the only way I can verify whatever you tell me.

Tarantulas: *even though Prowl couldn’t hear, spark and fans are now dead. Silence for a while*

Tarantulas: It’s not - it can’t be the ONLY way. You’re not serious, Prowl.

Prowl: Name a better one.

Tarantulas: I - you - damnit. *briefly thinks of Impetus, but that’s even worse*

Tarantulas: You could just take me at my word, but apparently that’s not sufficient. And experiential evidence is too faulty and unpredictable for you.

Prowl: I can’t take someone at his word when his word hasn’t been reliable.

Tarantulas: *starting to gesture more, clearly agitated* So OBVIOUSLY the solution is to have my mind read while I’m being interrogated. Yes. That sounds wholly reasonable and not risky in the least bit, especially not for the test subject, oh no, of course not.

Prowl: And my experiential evidence is that you lie, all the time.

Tarantulas: I haven’t been! Primus, it’s - I’ve been spotless since we talked that once.

Prowl: I have faith in his capabilities. There’s no risk of him doing harm unless you mentally struggle, and even at that any harm will be in self-defense.

Prowl: I don’t know you’ve been spotless. All I know is I haven’t caught you.

Tarantulas: *Tarantulas is stewing in his awful thoughts. Mild cursing under his breath*

Prowl: *Prowl will wait.*

Prowl: … You don’t have to agree. Nothing will be done without your consent.

Prowl: *okay, NOW Prowl will wait.*

Tarantulas: *loud laugh* As if. As if it were even an option to say no. You know better, Prowl. This is an ultimatum.

Prowl: A penultimatum. I’d have to look for another way to get the answers I need.

Prowl: And I have no idea how long that would take.

Tarantulas: Penultimatums never work. This is… *muttering*

Prowl: *Prowl will wait. again.*

Tarantulas: *…it WOULD take a long time. Too long for Tarantulas to allow. Too long for him to bear. Maybe he’d have to just grin and bear this, damnit*

Tarantulas: *maybe best for Prowl to just find things out and have done with it*

Tarantulas: *not looking* …Permitted. Your request.

Tarantulas: I’ll consent. But with the condition of backing out whenever I so desire.

Prowl: That was always going to be a term of the agreement. Soundwave also has agreed.

Tarantulas: Reiterating. *claw on arm. Tense. Obviously still furiously thinking*

Prowl: Just—no attempting to force him out of your mind. He will leave if you decide you want to quit. Attempting to eject his mind could damage you both.

Tarantulas: Hah. I wouldn’t risk that, but thank you for informing me.

Prowl: *… for a moment, tempted to apologize. but… no. tarantulas was right when he said that isn’t an apology. it doesn’t count if he’s going to do this anyway.*

Prowl: Soundwave is standing by. Are you ready?

Tarantulas: *full body shiver and sigh* …Let’s get this over with, then.

Prowl: *pings Soundwave.* (S) «Tarantulas agreed. He wants to reiterate that he’s permitted to back out at any time. I’ve let him know that resistance can result in processor damage.»

Soundwave: *Elsewhere.* (P) (txt): Coordinates.

Prowl: *coordinate ping. it’ll open up right next to Prowl.*

Soundwave: *The bridge is open but a moment before Soundwave steps through, accompanied by everyone except Chimera - Zori trailing behind alone, as large as his Tyran cousin, and the others docked - and it closes again the instant Zori’s tail clears the portal. Zori automatically moves to block Prowl, his fear of spiders setting him on high alert; he can and will attack to protect his carrier’s ally. Soundwave gives Prowl a once-over to see if he’s been hurt, glances at the frog a few seconds longer than is truly necessary to make it seem like he’s never seen one before… and finally, fixes his gaze on Tarantulas’ visor, staring at the spider with the same icy air reserved for those he is willing to kill. Awaiting instructions, Prowl.*

Prowl: *he wasn’t expecting a whole party. hello, everyone. a polite nod toward the group.* Is everyone ready? Any final questions about how this is going to go?

Tarantulas: *looks like a prisoner awaiting the guillotine. Thanks for the icy stare, SW* …Are ALL the deployers really necessary?

Soundwave: (txt): Dependent upon findings, behavior.

Prowl: If you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve got nothing to fear.

Tarantulas: You say that as if this is going to be a pleasant experience otherwise.

Soundwave: *Speaking only to Prowl while still staring at Tarantulas.* (txt): Describe expected answer transfer process.

Prowl: (only to S) «I suppose it would be too difficult for you to translate his thoughts into text at a reasonable rate without losing a good 90% of the content, wouldn’t it.»

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Number too low. Confirmation given regardless.

Tarantulas: *hates waiting knowing they’re discussing something. Ugh.*

Prowl: *deep vent.* (S) «Well. It would be unfair for me to expect Tarantulas to undergo invasive telepathy if I wasn’t willing to accept a sample of it myself.»

Prowl: (S) «For the duration of this conversation, you’re released from your restriction to text. I reserve the same right to revoke access that Tarantulas has.»

Prowl: *but he probably won’t let himself use it unless it’s already gone too far*

Soundwave: *It is a testament to his many millions of years of practice being silent and cut off that he does not react to this with anything other than a tiny nod of agreement.*

Prowl: *looks at Tarantulas* Are you ready?

Tarantulas: As ready as anyone could ever be in the face of dual verbal and mental interrogation.

Tarantulas: *glancing around - defeatedly perches on the edge of rubble nearby*

Prowl: *and at Soundwave* Do you need to… *vague gesture at Tarantulas* acclimate yourself? Anything like that?

Soundwave: *Nod.* (txt): Prowl informed when Soundwave ready.

Prowl: *will wait, then. crosses arms, looks down, and tries to mentally brace himself for invading thoughts.*

Tarantulas: *quiet snicker. Acclimate to Tarantulas’ mind. Sure.*

Prowl: *… looking down means looking at zori. hello, zori.*

Tarantulas: *watching SW closely the whole time*

Soundwave: *He turns on the Noisemaze program and approaches Tarantulas with both feelers. He could do this with one hand, but he’d rather minimize the risk of being attacked while forced to mostly rely on his deployers’ senses. Tarantulas had better get comfortable quick. They’re going to constrict him shoulder to hip and knees to ankles, and he’ll be diving in the moment he makes contact, following the path of lights only he can see to whatever counts as Tarantulas’ safe space…*

Tarantulas: *tries really really hard to suffocate his panic - wasn’t expecting the physical restraints. Slight body struggling as he figures out what’s going on/gets situated*

Tarantulas: S-slag, you could have - asked first. Or at least t-told me.

Prowl: *wasn’t expecting the physical restraints either. a flicker of concern crosses his otherwise blank expression, but he quickly suppresses it.*

Soundwave: (txt): No harm done if none necessary.

Soundwave: *They’re firm, but not crushing, and he took care to avoid binding the individual spider legs.*

Tarantulas: *those spider legs are twitching quite a bit, flexing* I’d TRULY appreciate it if you two would stop saying scrap like that.

Tarantulas: [[get off get off get out no calm down shh]] *meanwhile SW’s lights are leading him literally down through the Noisemaze*

Tarantulas: *SW can use chunks of Noisemaze as stepping stones to reach the Tor, but once inside it looks different. Imagine a TF version of the staircases in Hogwarts but times a million and all the portraits shift and switch places and open. Behind one is an empty off-white room with bars on the windows out to the maze. A single berth bolted to the floor. That’s Soundwave’s destination*

Tarantulas: *mesothulas is sitting against the side wall with his knees pulled up, tense as frick, red optics fixed on the door*

Soundwave: *Then it is where he will go, picking his way from path to path until he slowly opens the right portrait and slips inside.*

Soundwave: *That… is not who he expected to see in all this chaos.*

Soundwave: *He offers Mesothulas a small, polite bow, and takes a moment to call Prowl.*

Prowl: *what do you mean call prowl. what’s going on. he’s about to get a, like, brain feed right? that’s how this works?*

Tarantulas: [[What do you want what do you want could you just PLEASE leave me alone - but no - Prowl - we’ve got to get this over with - Prowl. I can do this. Soundwave. Sound-]]

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Follow voice. Soundwave will lead to own mindscape. Sand, tunnel entrance. Prowl safe there.

Prowl: (S) «What.» *nobody said anything about sand and tunnels and mindscapes. he never got any of that from Soundwave before he switched to text.*

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Telepathic form, visual setting. Prowl will see. Do not fight. Follow voice.

Soundwave: *Literally, call Prowl. A small brush against his consciousness, followed by a whisper of whatever Prowl thinks SW’s voice sounds like, beckoning him closer, until he doesn’t see the world as it is but rather slips through a small blackness and into a new setting.*

Prowl: [[Hold on hold on hold on—]] *he was not anticipating that and he doesn’t know what’s going on. physically, his avatar stumbles back, but there’s nothing his mind can do to get out. so.*

Prowl: *have a little Instant Panic.*

Soundwave: *Shhh. Shhh. It’s okay. His avatar is there as well, exactly as it looked before they changed settings.*

Soundwave: *It’ll hold out a hand.*

Prowl: *IT’S OKAY?! HIS HEAD IS STUCK INSIDE SOMEBODY ELSE’S HEAD AND HE DOESN’T KNOW WHERE THE EXIT IS*

Soundwave: [[You are not trapped. He will help you out if you need to leave. Do not panic.]]

Prowl: *on all three levels of reality—physical, avatar, and mental—both hands clamp tight across the back of his neck. it doesn’t help.*

Prowl: [[how do i get out where do i get out]]

Soundwave: [[Prowl. This is only him. Tarantulas is not here. No others are here. Only you. Look, here –]]

Soundwave: *This is his mind; he can adjust it as he likes. He opens a bridge.*

Prowl: [[is that the exit]]

Soundwave: [[It is now. If you go through this, he will help you leave.]]

Soundwave: [[If you do not feel safe out here, he will show you inside.]]

Soundwave: *Points to the tunnel.*

Prowl: *oh HELL no. he is not going deeper. whether it’s on the beach or in the tunnel he is still inside somebody else’s mind.*

Prowl: *looks at the “bridge.”* [[i don’t want to call this off. i can’t afford to quit now. can i get back in if i leave.]]

Prowl: *he just needs to know he can exit.*

Soundwave: [[While we are here, you need only to ask him.]]

Soundwave: [[…As in the physical location.]]

Prowl: [[i’m leaving.]]

Prowl: *OUT THE BRIDGE*

Soundwave: *Soundwave will help push all the pieces of Prowl back out with him. Nothing stays behind.*

Prowl: *he’s out. he’s back in the loft/tarantulas’s lab. is all of him the same?*

Soundwave: *ALL of him is the same, inside and out.*

Prowl: *… but he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know how he can know. he wasn’t expecting that. he was expecting soundwave to feed him thoughts the way he did before he switched to text.*

Soundwave: *Prowl said he can identify bad data in his own mind. Search for it.*

Soundwave: *While he waits, he 'speaks’ to Mesothulas.*

Soundwave: (M) [[Please, do not panic. He will not harm you. He is only here to listen. Who are you?]]

Tarantulas: *IRL tarantulas is motionless perched there, coiled up, apparently lost in his head. Inside, Mesothulas is still on the floor*

Prowl: *he’s searching, he’s searching. but he didn’t recognize what chromedome did until bombshell. obviously he can’t find ALL the bad data.*

Soundwave: *At some point, Prowl is going to have to trust that Soundwave did not spend all that time on text just to shred him in ten seconds.*

Prowl: *tell that to his panic*

Tarantulas: [[Tarantulas. Tarantulas - I think. Mesothulas? Tarantulas. But you’re Soundwave, I know that much. I’m - Prowl. I’m here for Prowl. Listen then - listen -]] *and suddenly a deluge of thoughts and emotions Tarantulas just dragged up out of nowhere. Yes. Totally helpful*

Soundwave: *Fine.* (P) (txt): Apologies. Descent faster than expected. Prowl intact. No harm done. Exit successful. Recommendation: Ventilate, count.

Soundwave: *Whoop, what’s all this being thrown at him? Is this about Prowl?*

Prowl: *he’s ventilating. he’s got two trembling handfuls of magnets, which is better than counting.*

Prowl: *grimly* «My mind tends not to behave the way most people expect it to.»

Soundwave: [[Greetings, Tarantulas. Yes. This is for Prowl. You must speak the truth, here. For him, and for Shockwave. You would like to see his projects too, would you not?]]

Prowl: *he calls the Constructicons upstairs to him. A buffer. Six minds are stronger than one.*

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Acknowledged. Slower process attempted next time.

Prowl: *part of him wants to reject the offer of a “next time” altogether. he hadn’t expected that. he didn’t want it. … but how dare Prowl make Tarantulas go through that alone.*

Tarantulas: *flicker, mesothulas’ form morphs briefly to tarantulas frame instead* [[Of course. Yes. Manipulate me. Use my desires against me. Go on.]]

Soundwave: *Well, then. If Mesothulas-Tarantulas already knows what he’s up to, why not be up to it?*

Soundwave: [[You are important to his allies. He would see things work well. Tell the truth, and if you pass Prowl’s test he will teach you to ingratiate yourself with Shockwave’s creations.]]

Prowl: *this was Prowl’s idea. He deserved to suffer for it too.* @Soundwave «I’m ready. The Constructicons are going to—partially accompany me.»

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Understood. Follow voice… slower. Take time.

Soundwave: *It’s not going to repeat itself as quickly as before either.*

Prowl: (S) «I don’t know how to “follow voice” slowly. This is—abstract to me. Following a voice into a brain.»

Prowl: *you might as well tell him “walk slowly across this flashlight beam.”*

Soundwave: *How to make this into something someone like Prowl could understand. Hmm.*

Prowl: *TRIES TO… THINK… SLOWER???*

Prowl: *it’s not working*

Tarantulas: [[As if the truth would be what you want to hear. Take, take. Just take it. And shut the door behind you - now, and later - but now - it’s too loud out there. Shut the door.]] *open door is open*

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Voice will use numbers. Prowl counts 1 through 9, voice utilizes ten multiples. When 100 reached, process complete. Count at own pace.

Prowl: (S) «… Does that work.»

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Soundwave adjusts telepathy strength to Prowl progress.

Soundwave: *In Mesothulas-Tarantulas’ mindscape, Soundwave’s projection turns to shut the door as commanded. He does not mind being reasonable. As he said, he would rather not have to hurt anyone.*

Prowl: (S) «All right. Fine.»

Prowl: *all said and done, though, he counts very fast. Prowl probably doesn’t know how to count slow inside his own head.*

Soundwave: *Well, it’s better than tipping directly off the damn cliff.*

Tarantulas: *in the background, the noisemaze swirl of thoughts that tarantulas drew on for the deluge. once the door is shut, the thoughts are a muted. quiet. faded white*

Tarantulas: [[Thank you - no, no thank-you. Acknowledged. No thank-you’s here.]]

Soundwave: *That’s less chaotic. Very relieving. He has more attention to spare for monitoring Prowl.*

Soundwave: [[As you wish.]]

Tarantulas: [[As I wish - If I had my wishes granted - this wouldn’t BE. It’s not as I wish. Strip off the niceties. I’d rather - rather, this.]] *a gesture at the walls*

Soundwave: [[…A prison?]]

Tarantulas: *his frame keeps sliding between meso/tara* [[NO - no. No. Bare. Fundamental. That’s it. Not nothing, but not something -]]

Prowl: *prowl’s calmer this time. settled into the same frame he uses for his avatar. and flickering around him like bodyguards, out of sight the moment you focus on them, are six indistinct green specters.*

Prowl: *he’s not comfortable, but he isn’t panicking.*

Soundwave: *The bridge is still open, and Soundwave’s avatar is still there. It nods again, this time to him and his there-not-there ghosts.*

Prowl: *nods back. one hand automatically gravitates to the back of his neck.* Now what.

Soundwave: *Disappointed. Prowl still thinks he’s going to edit him. Prowl still can’t see why he wouldn’t. The feeling flickers through the landscape for a second, then disappears* [[Ask questions. Receive answers. This way is fastest.]]

Soundwave: [[You will find them… there.]] Point to spot near tunnel.

Prowl: *he doesn’t think it. he feels it. if he thought it, he wouldn’t be here. feelings can be stuffed down.*

Prowl: *heads for the spot.* [[I won’t be interacting with Tarantulas’s mind directly, I take it?]]

Tarantulas: [[Elegant. Elegant, that’s what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.]]

Tarantulas: [[- But. That’s not what you’re here for. No distractions. What about Prowl? Prowl. Where is he. How does this work.]] *finally leaning forward on the floor*

Soundwave: (M) [[Very well. Then let us not pretend any more. He is here to question you, and you will respond. He will give what you think to Prowl, and if he believes you are hiding something he WILL search for it. He would rather not. You are, as he said, important.]]

Soundwave: [[Pass, and he will still give you the information. That does not change.]]

Soundwave: [[Prowl is somewhere else. You will not contact each other.]]

Soundwave: (P) [[No. Neither of you can touch the other this way. You may begin interviewing when you are ready.]]

Prowl: *nods. all right then.* [[Do I say the questions out loud? Or pass them through you?]]

Soundwave: [[Through him. Tarantulas will hear them in his version of this 'voice’.]]

Soundwave: [[Consider him a living hardline, if that helps. … Do not get carried away.]]

Prowl: [[I couldn’t if I wanted to.]]

Prowl: [[… Show me everything going through his head. Not just the relevant answers to the questions. I want to know what he’s experiencing.]]

Tarantulas: *nod - it’s tara - he’s standing up* [[Prowl asks, I speak, you listen, Prowl judges. How do I -]] *a rush of choking panic* [[how do I know if I can get out if I fail why did I trust this it’s a trap it’s a trap it’s a trap I should have KNOWN]]

Soundwave: *The sand rises up and temporarily turns into a glass wall. It’ll function like a viewscreen.*

Prowl: *… touches?*

Prowl: *does touching do anything*

Soundwave: (M) [[Silence. This is your mind. You do not need to leave it. You may ask him to go. Prowl gave you that right.]]

Soundwave: *Touching does nothing. It is only a monitor.*

Prowl: *cheap-ass viewscreen don’t you know everything is touch screen compatible these days*

Soundwave: *Sorry. He said no contact.*

Prowl: *okay. this is good enough. he supposes.*

Tarantulas: [[I can’t stay IN here I’ll suffocate you don’t understand - rights - rights don’t mean anything, there’s no way to know - no way for Prowl to know the truth, no way for ME to know it’s not a plot to bind me down inside my own mind -]]

Soundwave: [[If he wanted to destroy your mind he would have done so already. Prowl is watching him work. He cannot harm you.]]

Soundwave: [[Unless you attempt to attack him first.]]

Prowl: *oh, tarantulas. prowl knows it doesn’t do anything, but he still touches the screen. he’s sorry. whether you believe it or not, he’s sorry.*

Prowl: *but not sorry enough.* [[Question one. What do you think of dark energon? Would you experiment on it? Use it?]]

Tarantulas: [[It’s not destroying a mind, it’s capturing it, an uroburos, then - to study - because the Noisemaze didn’t work - Prowl -]] *but the sound of the voice cuts off the train of thought*

Tarantulas: *blank. blank. then fuzz of defragging. then thoughts* [[Dark energon - dark energon. Beautiful, deadly, interesting, but likely useless - better, more reliable ways of doing the same things - fun to toy with, dangerous to toy with.]]

Soundwave: *Somewhere behind Prowl and the sort-of Constructicons, a tiny whirl of dust that’s quickly tamped back to the ground by an invisible force. He must have patience and hear this out.*

Prowl: *the fingers against the viewscreen twitch, trying to coil, as Tarantulas babbles about the destruction of his mind; but go steady as he starts answering. work time.* [[Which side of it wins out?]]

Prowl: *Prowl isn’t aware of the dust devil, but his guards are; they pull in closer to him.*

Soundwave: *It’s of no harm to them. Just… a flicker of feeling from deep below their pedes.*

Tarantulas: *is decidedly tara talking now* [[Neither - neither. In the sense that the urge - science always searches for a simpler solution. Dark energon could be. But I don’t know. I don’t know if I can control it. Don’t know if ANYONE can control it. Not worth the price. So - no? No. Learn more through secondary research instead.]]

Prowl: (S) [[You’re in his mind. When he sees the rest of what dark energon does, will that be enough to convince him utterly that it can’t be controlled?]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave thinks. How does he find an answer for this without giving the documentary contents before it’s time?*

Soundwave: *His projection stirs on the other side.*

Prowl: (S) [[Right now, I’m 95% certain.]] *behold—Prowl’s math. in all its glory.* [[I’d like to be 98% certain.]]

Soundwave: *And immediately falls still again.*

Soundwave: *MICRONUS ON GIGANTION, THAT IS INDEED -GLORIOUS-*

Soundwave: *But this is not the time, not the TIME, he’s supposed to be - oh, he’s supposed to be doing something else.*

Soundwave: (M) [[What makes it not worth the price?]]

Tarantulas: [[Lack - lack of knowledge increases danger. Hearsay. Inability to personally manipulate. Contamination risk.]] *talking science and logic is calming, good* [[…is there a way to know. To know if I’ve passed each. Reassurance. Or is it point-based. Or even subjective.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave zeroes in on “Inability to personally manipulate”.*

Prowl: *prowl flinched. oh, tarantulas. a new batch of calculations flutter around prowl’s head as he tries to determine how much reassurance is safe to offer tarantulas without contaminating the test.*

Soundwave: (P): [[Not -utterly-.]]  *Oh. Calculations again, he should have expected these. Maybe if he - if Prowl will let him-*

Soundwave: *Points to some of the floating bits and bobs his helm. May he touch?*

Prowl: [[I probably shouldn’t say “you’ll know you’re not failing too badly if we’re not killing you.”]]

Soundwave: [[…He would not recommend that.]]

Prowl: [[… What are you pointing at?]] *looks?*

Tarantulas: *zeroing in provides “most dark energon experiments can only really be fully manifested by doing them on oneself and he’s not doing that to his precious frame or mind”*

Soundwave: *That’s even worse than it sounded. Passes that over as well.*

Prowl: *he always sees the numbers so it takes him a moment to realize that Soundwave is seeing them too.* [[… Sure.]]

Prowl: *that sounds workable to Prowl. 96%.*

Soundwave: *Tries to touch them. It helps him keep his own opinions locked up tight. Part of him is already tempted to crush the life out of Tarantulas. He will NOT let that get across to them.*

Prowl: *NUMBER EXPLOSION.*

Prowl: *U GET SO MUCH MATH*

Soundwave: *saves as MUCH OF IT AS POSSIBLE to examine later before he has to let go and back up*

Soundwave: [[You - you should answer. Him. The reassurance question.]]

Prowl: *presses hand flatter against the viewscreen.* [[I can’t give you the rubric. You’re doing fine so far.]]

Prowl: [[What do you know about and what are your thoughts on Unicron?]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Hold.]]

Soundwave: *Something about the way Tarantulas phrased what he found a moment ago - and now he’s thinking of his own Shockwave, and Tarantulas’ idolization, and…*

Prowl: *glances back at Soundwave curiously, then refocuses on the viewscreen*

Soundwave: *Soundwave continues tugging on that mental thread, pulling on it like a string on a fraying sweater*

Soundwave: *What is this “most”? What of the ones that aren’t? What about other bots? He needs to find these things. He’s seen these things.*

Tarantulas: *fraying sweater unravels jerkily, but not actively resisting*

Prowl: *ah, there was more digging they could do? next time he’ll ask soundwave if they’ve gotten everything before moving on.*

Soundwave: *A second, much smaller screen appears in his own mindscape much the same way as the first, but this time it shows Prowl a fragment of Shockwave testing a thin ingot on restrained subjects.*

Soundwave: *This is why he’s asking.*

Prowl: *that shreds a bit of what faint trust Prowl had that this Shockwave was more reasonable than theirs*

Prowl: *you gain a point, you lose a point. so quickly.*

Soundwave: (P) [[Own. Not ally. Different paths.]]

Prowl: [[Discuss that later.]]

Tarantulas: [[Not going to waste samples of something dangerous - not on a test subject who would be wasted too - irretrievable, and the data wouldn’t be the same as personal experience.]]

Tarantulas: [[Play with - toy with - not inflict.]]

Soundwave: *There. That’s what he wanted to know. That should send Prowl calculating a third time (but he won’t listen, no)*

Soundwave: [[Of course. Proceed with questions.]]

Prowl: *96.9%.*

Prowl: [[The Unicron one.]]

Soundwave: *And onward, Tarantulas. You’re back up to surface-ish safety.*

Tarantulas: *tara’s sitting on the berth now, head in claw* [[Unicron - anti-Primus. Difficult to separate knowledge and thoughts - but I’ll try. Unicron is… source of dark energon, but primarily - chaos entity, consuming existence aside from self. Insanely powerful, but - wouldn’t tangle with, subjects and playthings meet bitter ends. Again, not worth the price. Playing WITH god - less fun than playing god itself.]]

Prowl: (S) [[… You know what, I intensely dislike that answer, but I’m prepared to award him 100% anyway. Anything to dig into?]]

Soundwave: *Shockwave plays god all the time with making the Predacons. Megatron himself said a form of that. Soundwave won’t dig on any of that.*

Soundwave: *Feels slightly better with the 'subjects and playthings meet bitter ends’ part. Wait until you see, Tarantulas. Wait until you see.*

Soundwave: [[Not now. Proceed.]]

Prowl: [[What do you know about the Dead Universe? Any inclination to study up on it? What about the D-Void?]]

Prowl: (S) [[If he gives a “yes” to “studying the Dead Universe,” it won’t necessarily be a bad answer, if he says it’s to look for ways to neutralize or contain it. Context matters here.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave’s projection just keeps standing and staring at Tarantulas. He would’ve suggested ways for Tara to comfort himself, but he was told to skip the niceties. So he is.*

Soundwave: *Small nod back 'home’. He’ll pry more if need be.*

Tarantulas: [[I know - things. Vagueness. The Dead Universe - crippled, siphoned - contained the D-Void, consuming, similar to Unicron, but with intent to expand. Little to no interest in studying - and native D-Void is presumed dead.]]

Prowl: [[No curiosity? What if you were presented an opportunity to go examine it or its spawn?]]

Tarantulas: *a bit of twitching* [[I wouldn’t seek it out - wouldn’t turn it down. Still probably too much effort for something I’m not interested in. Nothing I can think to DO with it - a scourge, nothing more]]

Tarantulas: [[It’s just an offshoot. A consequence of Shockwave’s errors.]]

Prowl: *not as strong as Prowl would have liked, but apathy was better than curiosity.*

Prowl: (S) [[Any more digging?]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Dead Universe, D-Void not known well. This, Prowl’s decision.]]

Prowl: [[… What if you knew I don’t want you to look into it?]]

Tarantulas: *squinting* [[Some curiosity - but also suspicion you’re baiting me. …No - no, I’ve a pocket universe of my own.]]

Tarantulas: [[Enough to handle multiversally - is what I mean.]]

Prowl: *he didn’t like that answer. he hadn’t expected to.*

Prowl: *it could have been worse. moving on. Shockwave had come up, and Shockwave was the next question, so–*

Prowl: [[What do you think about our Shockwave’s work? Specifically his final project. Is there any conceivable scenario in which you would replicate, assist, or advance on that work?]]

Tarantulas: [[Our? Mine - can really only say for mine, I don't know the details of Prowl's. Regenesis? Genius, grand, thorough, well-orchestrated... inelegant. Again, possible waste of a universe. Time-consuming. Not worth replicating, only studying. Assist…]] *a twinge of embarrassment, tarantulas gets up inside the white room, pacing, turning back on SW* [[…may be manipulated into assisting or advancing, small chance, I can’t deny.]]

Prowl: *inelegant. possible waste. not nearly strong enough language.*

Prowl: [[Why "possible" waste?]]

Tarantulas: [[Reality singularity could be avoided – other possible solutions, endings. Shockwave is not infallible or creatively exhaustive.]]

Prowl: *better than it had sounded initially.* [[Why "inelegant"?]]

Tarantulas: [[As said – time-consuming, material-consuming, others…]] *flash of amusement, mesothulas shows through* [[Anything that requires leaving the lab? Automatically inelegant.]]

Prowl: [[Ways to minimize the odds that you'd be manipulated into assisting?]]

Tarantulas: *self-questioning buzzing silence* [[…Elimination or limitation of contact with relevant Shockwaves – most effective, i.e. remove the manipulator. Or… preoccupy me with a better project.]]

Tarantulas: *somehow, SOMEHOW, that comes off as flirtatious*

Tarantulas: *trust tarantulas to be able to flirt while being invasively mind-read*

Prowl: *flirt was successful. not that tarantulas can see it, but he's earned a dumb little smile. fun fact: harder to control facial expressions and commentary when you're inside someone's headspace*

Prowl: *but even that's quickly locked up* (S) [[Anything to add? He didn't come out as strongly against the end of the universe as I'd have liked, but at least he admitted he's vulnerable to manipulation.]]

Soundwave: *And that's why he's not letting them contact each other. He almost regrets letting Prowl see. Good thing Prowl doesn't let it go across.*

Prowl: *smart move*

Soundwave: (P) [[Nothing for now. Association with one who has no desire to end the universe may help with what little he's said.]]

Soundwave: *Carry on.*

Prowl: *small nod.* [[... You're doing fine so far, Tarantulas. You're over halfway through. This will be over soon. Then we can interface.]]

Prowl: [[......... Don't share that last part.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave's projection straightens up and freezes, then turns to stare at Prowl*

Prowl: [[............... And I would appreciate if you pretended I didn't say it. Think it. Whatever.]]

Prowl: [[Look. Talking inside someone else's head without sharing what's in my head is challenging. And I am deeply mortified. Deeply.]]

Soundwave: *S l o w l y forces himself to turn away and not comment. This is not his business. He knew that was what a large part of why they were interviewing Tarantulas anyway.*

Prowl: *you know what, prowl's just going to. lie down. in the sand.*

Soundwave: *And Prowl wouldn't have liked what he had to say about deciding Tarantulas could interface with Prowl before Prowl even finished the damn interview. It's probably for the best he keeps quiet.*

Prowl: *well OBVIOUSLY they're only interfacing if he PASSES. but he's passing so far.*

Prowl: *and all the important questions have been asked.*

Soundwave: *He will do Prowl the TINIEST of personal favors and let the sand form a small, low but open-ended shield around Prowl so he can cope with his mortification in peace.*

Prowl: (S) [[Thank you.]]

Soundwave: *The projection in Mesothulas' room may be staring a little harder though.*

Tarantulas: *a visor staring harder isn't noticeable, it's all good sw*

Tarantulas: *surge of relief* [[I – appreciation. Ah – I see, especially – PROWL’S words, not yours.]] *a bit of pride – “doing fine” is praise, right??*

Soundwave: *Of course it is. It's a feeling, slipping into the room like newly cycled air.*

Soundwave: *So yes. Those are Prowl's words, not his.*

Tarantulas: *was just the immediate realization, made him pleased*

Prowl: [[Next. What is the nature of your relationship with Black Shadow? Any inclination to use his services?]]

Tarantulas: *….instant mood crash, meso collapses into tara* [[I – you know. You already know. He said he didn’t tell you but you KNOW. I didn’t ask – his services weren’t requested – it was a GIFT. Not my fault. Not my fault. Not my fault.]] *the last thought repeats suspiciously*

Prowl: *entire face screws up. oh, tarantulaaas.* [[What happened.]]

Soundwave: *?? This is new. Sneaks closer to Tarantulas and the sand shield, curious.*

Prowl: *he's curled up in humiliation long enough. sits up to watch the screen again.*

Soundwave: (P) [[Black Shadow? Smokescreen's companion?]] *that's the only one he knows*

Prowl: (S) [[Unfortunately. A Phase Sixer. He's in the business of razing planets to the ground. Especially populated ones. Complete extinction in a matter of days.]]

Prowl: (S) [[He's among the worst of the filthy atrocities produced by the Decepticons.]]

Soundwave: *Well. He can sort of guess what GIFT Tarantulas got now.*

Tarantulas: [[Nothing happened. Christmas. A gift. Ididn’taskforitheaskedmefirst -]] *loud buzzing, the Noisemaze tendrils creeping in through the window bars, an attempt to distract himself. still whispers of “not sentient,” “only a few,” and again “not my fault”*

Prowl: [[He ASKED you. Did you ACCEPT it? Did you KNOW what he was offering and ACCEPT it? Did you CARE about the lives lost and planets devastated before I found out about them?]]

Tarantulas: [[Didn’t accept – hypothetical – but what does it MEAN to accept – can’t undo – might as w – nnno nono not lives not like that non-sentient -]] *static, more tendrils* [[I cared – I wanted – it’s not devastation it’s harvesting it’s re-creation don’t worry it’s -]]

Prowl: [[Don't give me excuses and explanations. Give me the truth. Unabridged.]]

Tarantulas: *back to the floor again with tara. holding his head, thoughts streaming out* [[Anonymous request – hypothetical, about planets desired – coordinates given but theywerethereforthetakingIswear -]] *claws over eyes, the Noisemaze interference retreating* [[Of course, Black Shadow chose a few – or maybe he didn’t I didn’t check the physical planets he just gave a datapad with coordinates I should check please don’t be razed – but I doubt – not the kind to NOT follow through especially with how he seemed so pleased – I shouldn’t have – Primus why did I -]]

Prowl: [[Did you honestly believe it was hypothetical?]]

Tarantulas: [[It said IF – IF implies SUBJUNCTIVE – how was I supposed to know – I suspected… m-maybe. 57% chance.]]

Soundwave: *Prowl can't possibly be pleased by any of this. Wonders if this is going to be the spider's final end.*

Prowl: [[Would you have cared about the consequences if I'd never found out.]]

Prowl: *because he said he cared but that wasn't what it sounded like.*

Tarantulas: [[I DO care – but the consequences – what consequences? Which consequences?]] *he’s being careful*

Prowl: [[If you aren't more forthcoming, I'll be asking Soundwave to /help/ you be forthcoming.]] *stop being careful*

Tarantulas: *slight panic* [[Honestly! Which consequences! THESE consequences? The PLANETARY consequences? Consequences for my work? Specify -]]

Soundwave: *Warning tug.*

Soundwave: [[He suggests all you can think of.]]

Prowl: [[ALL of them! Do you think I'm in here to let you weasel away with misleading half-truths?]]

Tarantulas: *his head’s on the floor now* [[Don’ttugdon’ttugstopdon’t it’s just – complicated it’s – I picked abandoned planets! Some – or at least non-sapient – trivial, the cleansing balances with the resources gained, I’ll be able to – won’t have to scrounge -]] *oh god that was a bad excuse* [[- I care I care I mean at least some – I care what you think, I care about punitive consequences, I care – not so much about the ecosystems lost because life persists and in the grand scheme of things -]]

Prowl: [[You don't care about the lives you ended and the potential future lives you quashed. Do you? Give me a straight answer. Enough dodging.]]

Tarantulas: [[I don’t care becausetheydon’tMATTER!]] *a flash of annoyance, shaking* [[Of all the people – why do YOU care about lost futures, illogical! Nonexistent, never WERE. There’s only what IS. And what WAS – they weren’t sapient – a loss, surely, but nothing to weep over, mourn – might as well mourn the rocks, the trees!]]

Prowl: [[... And what if they HAD been sapient? Would you have cared then?]]

Tarantulas: [[I – yes. Yes. Not as much as you – but I CHOSE. I chose. I cared. I care.]]

Prowl: [[Until this conversation, were you considering asking him to wipe out any more worlds?]]

Tarantulas: *flicker of relief (he wasn’t going to press?)* [[No. No I wasn’t. I hadn’t thought of such a thing. Wasn’t conscious of.]]

Prowl: [[And you're not going to now, are you?]]

Tarantulas: *twitch* [[I’m – not. It happened, but I don’t wish for more.]]

Prowl: *deep breath. heavy sigh.* (S) [[Anything to add?]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Not to him. You intend to punish him for this destruction?]]

Prowl: (S) [[... I don't know. Yes—I do, but... I don't know how. I'll... have to calculate.]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Before or after]] No, Prowl asked him not to comment on that slip-up. [[your final decision?]]

Prowl: (S) [[He will be punished regardless of my decision. But... it won't be tonight. He's suffered enough for tonight.]]

Prowl: *another heavy sigh* (S) [[I'm... not even surprised. By this. From him. I'm not surprised. I already knew that he...]]

Soundwave: *Question glyph. That he what, Prowl?*

Prowl: (S) [[... I'm just surprised he said he'd care if they were sapient.]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Do you want him to check that?]]

Prowl: (S) [[...... Yes.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave switches the majority of his focus back to Tarantulas' room and spreads his consciousness out in search of the comments on sapience. They're recent; he should find them easy enough...*

Tarantulas: *unfortunately for tara, they even stand out. especially "i cared" and "i care," they feel like they're asterisked. he's not fighting, but you'll have to ask*

Soundwave: *There they are.*

Soundwave: (((Not as much as you.))) [[How much, Tarantulas?]]

Soundwave: [[What is the definable extent?]]

Tarantulas: *freeze – flickers of Carpessa ghost through* [[Currently – unquantifiable. Not enough data. Hold – hold on.]] *static and numbers and glyphs then nothing* [[I wouldn’t – I care enough – I won’t take a sapient life myself. I don’t – won’t accept responsibility – guilt – for others’ actions. Is that what you want to hear.]]

Soundwave: *Is it?*

Soundwave: *And what are these echoes? He doesn't know this scene.*

Prowl: *a flinch, and a pained look. a moment of calculation.*

Prowl: [[... Do you accept responsibility for your part in enabling and encouraging those actions.]]

Tarantulas: *a shiver, betraying dread* [[…Enabling: yes. Encouraging: …no.]]

Prowl: [[No? You're not responsible if you actively attempt to get someone to commit a crime?]]

Tarantulas: [[Semantics – semantics. Blurred lines between active and passive. I didn’t – it wasn’t my fault. I didn't COMMIT murder. If it wasn’t my fault, why should I be held responsible??]]

Tarantulas: [[Encourage, attempt to get someone to commit - ways of saying different things, different gradiations. You're trying to TRAP me.]]

Prowl: [[You're not responsible for committing the murder. Do you think you're not responsible for helping make it happen?]]

Prowl: [[Do you think those specific planets would still have been razed if you hadn't said you wanted them razed?]]

Prowl: [[I'm not trying to trap you. I'm trying to dig you out from your own denial.]]

Soundwave: *Casual PULL.*

Tarantulas: *tara/meso scooting over to the wall and balling up against it again, impassive* [[Helping make it happen – enabling – yes. Encouraging, causing – NO. I -]] *a beat* [[Those planets wouldn’t have been. No. But I… I don’t regret it. Wouldn’t choose it again, but don’t regret.]]

Tarantulas: *oop. tara/meso ball is tightened, flickers. thoughts stop, panic*

Tarantulas: *he really REALLY doesn't like these mental hooks and pulls*

Prowl: [[... I didn't ask if you regret it. I asked if you think encouraging it to happen means you have a share of the responsibility.]]

Soundwave: *Hmm, too far. Lets the mental thread grow slacker. Prowl still has a question.*

Soundwave: *Oh, Tarantulas. And this is so little compared to what he could be doing.*

Prowl: *curled up in a ball now. one hand still pressed tight to the back of his neck, but the other wrapped around his knees. Face taut with pain, from both what Tarantulas is saying and experiencing.*

Prowl: *still watching, of course. he can't look away.*

Tarantulas: [[I don’t – don’t like the wording. Encourage. Implies – enthusiasm.]] *nit-picky, but he’s honest under pressure*

Prowl: [[Encouragement-sans-enthusiasm. Don't refrain from answering just because my vocabulary is constrained by the available synonyms and I can't think of a better one.]]

Prowl: [[Inspire. Incite. Instigate. Sway. Boost. Spur. Support. Rally. Recommend.]]

Soundwave: (P) [[More comfortable alone or with contact?]]

Soundwave: (P)[[...His. Not Tarantulas'.]]

Soundwave: *You still don't get that.*

Prowl: (S) [[I don't want contact.]] *not the same as saying he's more comfortable without contact*

Soundwave: [[Understood.]] He'll kick off the ground and float a couple dozen feet in the air. Not even on the same sand, see.

Tarantulas: *is that a laugh, it’s hard to tell* [[Then – yes. I concede - I’m -]] *waitwait geez the synonyms* [[Stopstopstop those – each have implications I – don’t want to pursue – unnecessary! I’m responsible for supporting. I admit that much.]]

Prowl: *he was trying to make it easier. tarantulas complained about the first word.*

Tarantulas: *prowl's "easier" is not tara's*

Prowl: *words are awful and ugly and get in the way*

Prowl: *a long moment of silence, as Prowl runs calculations.*

Prowl: *... calculations complete.* [[Are there any other prominent Decepticons or ex-Decepticons with whom you are or hope to get close, professionally or socially, aside from Black Shadow and Shockwave?]]

Tarantulas: *contacts list comes up, disappears. mostly ppl prowl knows, no one suspicious* [[…Only – Soundwave. That I can think of.]]

Soundwave: *...*

Prowl: [[Really? After this?]]

Prowl: [[... Don't answer that.]] *he was just surprised*

Soundwave: (P) [[It is his potential connection. Why should he not know the answer?]]

Prowl: (S) [[By all means, if you want to ask, go ahead. I retracted the question because I, er. Blurted it out.]]

Soundwave: (M) [[Strike the last command. Provide an answer.]]

Soundwave: *Prowl is getting all of his. Soundwave wants this one.*

Tarantulas: *a jumble, give him a minute* [[Professionally crucial. Technically – just an instrument in your plans.]] *more wrangling, static* [[…Personally… intriguing. Not – in spite of this.]]

Soundwave: *An instrument in - rude. Possibly true, and he knows it, but still. But the projection stays still and staring as ever. He won't give Tarantulas something to pick at him over.*

Prowl: (S) [[Is that all you wanted to ask?]]

Soundwave: (P) [[Of him. Proceed.]]

Prowl: *nods. back to his questions, then.* [[Do you...]]

Prowl: *stops. mentally rereads his questions. then looks up at the viewscreen, and tarantulas curled up in a ball.*

Prowl: [[... No. This interrogation is over.]] *mentally, he deletes the remaining questions* [[Finished. We're done. You passed.]]

Soundwave: *He p--what. How. HOW. Granted, Soundwave used to be a Decepticon and responsible for many horrible things too, but he wasn't still doing them (nearly as much as Tarantulas). And not to Prowl.*

Soundwave: *He hadn't, for example, stolen Prowl's medical scans and razed a few planets on a whim.*

Prowl: *he wasn't doing anything Prowl didn't expect him to do if given the opportunity*

Prowl: *and he WASN'T doing the things Prowl had feared he MIGHT be doing. so. he passed.*

Soundwave: *Displeased, but he'd agreed to leave Tarantulas' mind if Prowl said they were done. Damn it.*

Tarantulas: *wants to ask what the other question(s) would be, but as soon as he hears “you passed” he drops his head on his knees – a silver helm, not purple – kinda collapsing. Everything’s still, but the Noisemaze outside is nuts*

Soundwave: (P) [[You had other questions. You should have asked them.]]

Soundwave: (M) [[You are free to be alone. He takes his leave. Do not struggle. You will be free in a few moments.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave deposits the chemical structure of the spicy flakes the Predacons favor and a list of suitable forms of address for Predaking on the ground. He then exits the portrait and begins winding his way back through all the staircases, the lights, and finally back to himself.*

Prowl: (S) [[The point of this was to resolve once and for all whether there was a chance he was or might become an agent of chaos. It was never supposed to be anything more.]]

Prowl: (S) [[I'm not going to abuse the access he's granted us any more than I already have.]]

Soundwave: (P) [[As you wish. Please exit through the bridge. He will help you leave. No part of you has been edited, and no part of you will be left behind. He did this because you asked, not because he thought you would give him mental access or to turn you into a puppet. He has no interest in such waste. May you be satisfied with what you found.]]

Prowl: (S) [[I know. Thank you for your assistance.]] *he gives one last glance to the viewscreen—and then turns away, stands, and heads for the exit.*

Soundwave: *As promised, he'll make sure every bit of Prowl's consciousness is returned to the right helm as promised, as with Tarantulas'.*

Tarantulas: *didn’t hear SW; only notices he’s leaving when he drops the stuff*

Tarantulas: *mentally shelves the data – he’ll think about it later. When his processor actually functions again, that is. He’s just overwhelmed with relief and everything is spinning*

Soundwave: *And then, alone in his own head, he will shatter the viewscreens and shield with more force than strictly necessary. Then smooth the sand and slowly make his way back to the physical world.*

Prowl: *Once he and his specters are back home, Prowl's avatar drops to its knees, edges flickering in a way that nearly parallels the way his real body is trembling.*

Tarantulas: *give him a minute to come to his senses, he’d literally shut off his optics and has a couple things to reboot*

Soundwave: *Soundwave's feelers uncoil and slither back into his own frame as quickly as they can without injuring Tarantulas. He gives Tarantulas another hard stare, then decides he was not obligated to offer comfort or assistance after his portion of this interview was completed and steps away, to a place closer to where he'd entered the room to start with.*

Soundwave: *He is more concerned with Prowl, but he was told in-mind contact was unwanted, so he won't. He'll just watch.*

Prowl: *take your time, Tarantulas. Prowl's still recovering too.*

Prowl: (S) «Is there anything else you need to do? Exit procedures, or the like?» *his voice is remarkably stable, under the circumstances*

Soundwave: (P) (txt): He is cleared of you both.

Prowl: *small nod*

Tarantulas: *tara crumples forward into his own lap when SW uncoils – he’s conscious but mentally nauseous. After a bit his first thought is just to wordlessly mutter Prowl’s name*

Tarantulas: *props head up, elbows on knees, face in claws*

Tarantulas: *gj tara for not falling off ur perch*

Prowl: *looks at Tarantulas. braces himself for anything from a spontaneous love confession to a raving lab-destroying tantrum.*

Prowl: *... finally lets go of the back of his neck*

Tarantulas: *he gets neither. Just shaky silence* …Prowl… is that… it?

Prowl: ... Yes. Yes, that's it.

Prowl: *there's going to be negotiations to make—rules to agree on, boundaries to establish. and the fact that Prowl trusts Tarantulas not to end the universe doesn't mean he trusts him everywhere.*

Prowl: *but now isn't the time to broach those topics. that can all come later. this was the main barrier to—to everything, and it's come down.*

Tarantulas: *doesn’t matter – so long as tara knows that this whole mind-interrogation deal is over and he’s passed the worst part*

Prowl: The interrogation is over. And I will never ask you to do that again.

Tarantulas: *the wryest of wry visors as tarantulas raises his face finally* I – appreciate that, a-although it wasn’t THAT awful. *what. Zori get out of the way. You’re blocking his view and his eventual path once he feels like he can stand. He’s still swaying a bit*

Soundwave: *Zori raises his claws up and readies his stinger. He does not trust spiders. If someone wants him gone, they'll have to ask Soundwave.*

Prowl: *a sharp laugh at Tarantulas's bravado. it doesn't sound like a laugh. he's not sure what it sounds like.*

Prowl: *he's definitely not meeting Tarantulas's gaze, which means he's looking down at Zori again. hello Zori, again.*

Prowl: ... It's fine. He's not going to hurt me. *not least of which because he can't. holomatter.*

Soundwave: #others?

Soundwave: *Talk about bravado. That's the shakiest voice.*

Prowl: I don't think so. *but, gestures over at Soundwave. if you're concerned, you can guard him and the other deployers instead.*

Soundwave: *NYOOM he leaves the avatar alone and practically jams himself up against Soundwave's side*

Tarantulas: *some weak laughter* No - I wouldn't. Couldn't.

Tarantulas: *curious about the scorp, but that’s the last thing on his mind rn*

Tarantulas: *hmm why should he go over to prowl? He can just – zoop. There u go prowl, got a silk thread latched onto your bumper, tugging a tiny bit*

Prowl: *the first tug makes him stumble, shuffling forward a bit on his knees.*

Prowl: *well. he's still trying to figure out how tarantulas is going to react to this; but prowl's not getting kicked out immediately, so that eliminates several possibilities.*

Prowl: *although he's not convinced Tarantulas isn't just trying to tug him into punching range. still, he gets on his feet, shuffles the rest of the distance to tarantulas, and waits.*

Soundwave: *That unconvinced thought is why he's still here.*

Tarantulas: *nope, no punching, just slowly retracting the thread. There’s a slightly fritzing visor staring up at Prowl once he’s there* Prowl… Oh Prowl. I… *then another solid tug in an effort to pull him down into his arms*

Tarantulas: *his dastardly plan: get a hold of whatever version of prowl he can and never let go*

Prowl: *he doesn't resist. whatever tarantulas needs right now, he's getting. he lets tarantulas tug him back down onto his knees and sinks into the embrace.*

Prowl: (S) «... I think you can probably go now. If you want.» *if he WANTS to watch then Prowl's not going to kick him out. but 90% odds say he doesn't.*

Prowl: *look at prowl, he's rounding to the nearest ten. his processor is fried.*

Soundwave: *No. He does not want to watch this or whatever will follow it.*

Soundwave: (P) (txt): Tonight, not how Prowl contact wanted. Keep given word.

Soundwave: *The bridge opens and they are GONE.*

Prowl: (S) «Thank you.» *he said it once already. Soundwave's owed another.

Tarantulas: *tarantulas is just going to hold prowl as close to him as he can – doesn’t matter who’s coming or going. Just going to bury his face in prowl’s neck and wrap his arms around and hook them in doorwing joints and whatever else is there*

Prowl: *wraps his arms tightly around Tarantulas's waist, pulling him close. the textures of tarantulas's body are lost in the process of passing through his avatar, but he's not about to let go.*

Prowl: *on the other end, he runs the Constructicons off. they reluctantly unplug but they don't go far.*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued in the next chapter! We switched to conventional thread format. Note: the following rps are probably going to be long ones also.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the barriers are gone; the fallout.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t going to say anything until Prowl did. They might have just broken past whatever main barrier had been between them, but there was still something tenuous there that Tarantulas didn’t _want_ to break.
> 
> Instead he’d just exvent into Prowl’s plating and offline his optics. But – this wasn’t Prowl’s real plating, was it. Just an avatar, a stand-in. Primus, he didn’t even know if Prowl could actually feel what he was touching here… and that just felt… wrong, now that he thought about it. He needed Prowl. He needed the real Prowl. Now. Some reassurance that Prowl wouldn’t just disappear and leave him alone in a haunted old lab with only his buzzing, mildly ravaged mind to keep him company.
> 
> Murmuring mandibles against Prowl’s neck cables. “Your – apartment. Can I bridge over…?” It felt silly to ask, but still.

Prowl

> He hesitated only a second before nodding. "Careful. Don't let your bridge be caught on camera."

Tarantulas

> Another swell of relief (had he been expecting to be denied?) and – well, something. It didn’t matter. He gave a nod of his own, pulling back just a fraction.
> 
> “…Don’t… deactivate the holo until I’m there?”

Prowl

> A small nod. Prowl pulled back slightly as well, enough to stand; but he never fully let go of Tarantulas. His hands slid around Tarantulas's waist and up his chest to rest lightly on his shoulders.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas' arms loosened around him, claws following Prowl's hands up and clasping his wrists instead. A brief moment in which he just stared up at Prowl some more - and then he let go in order to push himself up to his feet.
> 
> Off to the portal he went, with Prowl solidly in tow. He wasn't letting go, even as he unlocked the systems and scrolled through familiar coordinates, settling on one in the vents above Prowl's loft. There - ready, set, and the inner edges of the portal collapsed down to a tiny frame in proportion to the vent, a small hole swirling open, ready for entry.
> 
> All Tarantulas had to do was transform and make his way through now - but somehow he couldn't even manage to let go of Prowl's mere avatar.

Prowl

> Prowl followed uncomplainingly, no more eager to pull away from Tarantulas than Tarantulas was to let go. Not until he was ready to—what. What. What. Did he just shrink the portal. Prowl had ASKED Soundwave if different space bridge sizes were possible and he’d gotten snark. And here was one right in front of him, that Tarantulas has made. This would make his life so much easier. Oh, oh this was going to the top of the list of things he had to ask Tarantulas about.
> 
> Later, though.
> 
> Prowl twisted his wrist in Tarantulas’s grip to grab his wrist in turn, squeezing reassuringly. “I’m right here. And I’ll be on the other side.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was completely unaware of the novelty of the portal - honestly, he’d be unaware of most anything except the pressure on his wrist, the silhouette of Prowl’s holo, the comforting sound of his voice.
> 
> “I - yes. Where are you? Downstairs? Should we…?”

Prowl

> “Upstairs,” Prowl said. “I can’t walk through the bridge with you—too hard for the projectors to figure out—” not to mention the fact that the bridge was too small, “—but I’ll be waiting. I promise.”

Tarantulas

> A pang of uncomfortable derealization. Tarantulas’ native Prowl would never be in this position - not saying these gentle words, not holding on, but also not after what had just happened… Primus. Forget about that,  _this_  is the Prowl that matters. He’s here. He’s waiting for you. The rest is just dislodged memories from Soundwave’s intrusion, ghosts to be waved away.
> 
> Choking slightly, Tarantulas let go, transformed, and sized down, little spidery legs taking him off through the portal without looking back. Then through the vents, slipping through a grating to appear on the mezzanine. As per usual, he shifted and transformed, leaving him as if he’d merely stepped in root mode from the old lab straight into the apartment.

Prowl

> Prowl held on as long as he could, his fingers brushing over Tarantulas’s many legs as he shrank out of reach. He stood, watching, until he was sure Tarantulas was gone; and then flickered out.
> 
> When Tarantulas arrived on the other end, it was just in time to witness a much less gentle Prowl: in the middle of an argument with the Constructicons.
> 
> “But boss—” “You know ya can’t trust him!” “After all the slag he’s done?!”
> 
> “That doesn’t matter right now. Not tonight.”
> 
> “It especially matters tonight!” “He’s gonna be mad.” “And you don’t even know if he respects you.” “No—you KNOW he don’t respect ya!”
> 
> “That doesn’t matter! After what I did—”
> 
> “WHO CARES what ya did!” “So ya scrambled his brains, boo hoo!” “It don’t affect us!”
> 
> “You’re sparkless,” Prowl snarled. “He didn’t deserve what he went through. I’m not going to leave him alone to deal with that.”
> 
> “You’re listenin’ to your guilt.”
> 
> “I’m listening to my conscience.”
> 
> “What’s the difference?!”
> 
> Prowl opened his mouth to answer; but finally caught sight of Tarantulas behind the Constructicons. He fell silent, and the Constructicons turned to follow his gaze, glaring at the visitor.
> 
> It took a moment for Prowl to tear his gaze away. “This isn’t up for debate.” The Constructicons’ attention snapped back to their boss. “You’re not going to dissuade me. We’re done. Go downstairs.”
> 
> For a moment, they didn’t move, glowering down at Prowl. But then, reluctantly, Scavenger turned away; and one by one the others did too, trudging to the stairs, conspicuously walking around Tarantulas.
> 
> Long Haul was the last to move, arms crossed and stubborn. “One day, you’re gonna learn t’ listen to us.” Prowl didn’t reply. He just scowled, waiting, until Long Haul turned and left too.
> 
> Leaving, at last, Prowl and Tarantulas. Prowl waited silently, the hard look on his face softening, for Tarantulas to make the first move.

Tarantulas

> For one lingering moment, Tarantulas wasn’t sure if the Constructicons were actually going to leave them alone – and instead of the usual anger, all he felt was despair. After hearing this compassionate side of Prowl, on top of what he’d just been through, he couldn’t muster the strength to be angry.
> 
> He shuddered slightly at the wording of the argument though. “ _Mad_.” “ _Doesn’t respect_.” “ _Scrambled his brains_.” “ _Doesn’t deserve_.” “ _Not going to leave him alone_.” It twisted things inside of him he didn’t want to think about at the moment.
> 
> But the Constructicons dispersed, and then it was only them. Prowl – Prowl standing there, waiting, a mirage that Tarantulas still had a hard time believing was real. His vents spun down to nothing as a claw hovered in front of his chest, and he just stared, gazing at the sight. Prowl.  _His_. No barriers in between – just Prowl.
> 
> Then, stumbling forward, he crossed that boundless space and greedily wrapped Prowl into his arms again, nuzzling into the top of his helm. His.  _His_.
> 
> “You’re so… small,” he mumbled, absently.

Prowl

> It took a force of will to resist the urge to cross the gap himself and pull Tarantulas close. Even after what they’d been through, even knowing that Tarantulas was working with other monsters, even knowing that—yes—that he didn’t respect Prowl… He’d waited so long for this. All the details could wait until tomorrow.
> 
> Still, Prowl would let Tarantulas make the first. After what Prowl had done—not just invading his mind, not just spending months holding him at arm’s length, but banishing him so long ago—Tarantulas deserved to have this scrap of agency back.
> 
> But the moment Tarantulas moved, so did Prowl. He only managed a couple of steps before Tarantulas seized him, and Prowl clung back just as tightly, arms wrapped around his narrow waist and fingers reaching up to the green lights on his back, face pressed against his chest.
> 
> That wasn’t the first thing Prowl expected him to say. A startled laugh. “I—well. Relatively speaking. I suppose.” He was quiet a moment, processing the statement. And then switched off his optics, turned his face more fully into Tarantulas’s chest, and mumbled, “Say that again.”

Tarantulas

> Having the scrap of agency was appreciated, but Tarantulas wouldn’t have minded in the least if Prowl had moved first. Anything, anything that showed him Prowl  _wanted_  him anywhere nearly as badly as Tarantulas wanted him back.
> 
> For a while he didn’t dare move, arms locked in place and hooked just like before, but eventually they pressed into Prowl’s plating and meandered possessively, one settling behind Prowl’s head. His back limbs flexed, then curled in and around as well, imprisoning them together in a spidery embrace.
> 
> Tarantulas, in turn, was pleasantly surprised as well - and intrigued, but wouldn’t follow that now. Cue some quiet rumbling from his chest. “You’re small, Prowl. Precious and small and  _perfect_.”

Prowl

> Prowl immediately tensed, battling the urge to squirm away. No, no no, anywhere but the back of his head. He reached up to push Tarantulas’s arm—not off, but lower, so his claw was settled on Prowl’s upper back instead of his head.
> 
> “Mm…” When was the last time anyone had considered him  _small?_  The Constructicons did, of course—and it frightened Prowl, how much Tarantulas and the Constructicons had in common, from the way they viewed Prowl as a treasure marred by morality, to the way their consciences were deadened and numb and their compassion missing.
> 
> He could deal with that tomorrow. Not now. “… Thanks.”

Tarantulas

> _Oh_. OK. Tarantulas let Prowl guide his claw down away from his helm. He’d forgotten about before, when Prowl had clasped there, that time with the signaling cube. Something was up with that - but he’d leave it alone.
> 
> But he wasn’t leaving  _Prowl_  alone. His claws dug into seams as if to root himself there permanently. “Any time. Anything you wish, Prowl. For you - and always sincerely.”
> 
> A tiny wobble and some amused muttering. “…I… to warn you - I’m likely to fall over, heh. And I doubt you could hold me up for very long.”

Prowl

> _Anything._  Prowl suppressed a shiver that turned into a tighter embrace. That promise meant far more out of Tarantulas than it did out of anyone else. Tarantulas could, after all, give Prowl things that didn’t even exist yet. All the projects Prowl had been putting off until now—viruses, space bridges, Phase Sixers… Anything he wished.
> 
> Prowl spread his feet slightly, steadying them both. “We should go sit,” he said. “I’ll carry you if you shrink.”

Tarantulas

> See -  _that_  was the difference between Tarantulas and the Constructicons. The latter were minimally useful and maximally obnoxious. Tarantulas was usefully genius and obnoxiously enticing.
> 
> Some more nuzzling and a nod into Prowl’s helm. “I shouldn’t. Shrink again, that is. A waste of energy at the moment. …I can walk.” And yet he made no move to pull back or even unhook his claws.

Prowl

> “All right.” Prowl waited. Tarantulas didn’t walk. “… It’s that way.” He let go with one hand to point to the unused berth room. (“Unused.” Hah. It had now been used for one make out session and one mutual masturbation session. Tarantulas was getting more use out of the room than the Constructicons it had been made for.)

Tarantulas

> Prowl letting go broke some sort of trance - although Tarantulas was definitely fully aware of everything that was going on. Well, everything that included Prowl, at least. “I know… I know.” And he was also fully aware of the things that’d happened in that room too, though he felt this time would likely be a bit… quieter.
> 
> Claws unhooked, arms unwrapped - well, one arm and eight legs. The remaining arm stayed in heavy contact with Prowl at all times in one way or another, as if Tarantulas would just float away without him as they maundered along. 
> 
> Then they were in the berthroom, and Tarantulas was leaning into Prowl, half wrapping himself around him again, half gradually pushing him down onto the very berth Prowl had lain on in view of his cameras.

Prowl

> Prowl wasn’t going let go of Tarantulas, either; one hand rested on the small of Tarantulas’s back, thumb rubbing idly against the armor over his spinal strut, as they walked.
> 
> The symbolism of that specific berth was obvious. Prowl wasn’t surprised when Tarantulas headed past the other berths to that one in the back corner; but he did feel a little more tired with each step. His valve automatically attempted to boot up lube production, sputtered, and died. Nope. Not happening.
> 
> He let Tarantulas push him down without resistance, but immediately said, “Before you get your hopes up too high, you should know that I’m absolutely not up for interfacing tonight.”

Tarantulas

> The touches to his spinal strut ran up past his neck and dispersed pleasantly. Tarantulas’ mind may have been violated, but at least his physical helm felt alright.
> 
> Humming laughter as he crawled onto the berth with Prowl beneath him. “Neither am I… believe it or not.” The last bit was said completely seriously, of course. “I just need - touch.  _You_. You’re… real. You’re here. And you’re… this is a strange way of saying it, but you’re not  _off-limits_  anymore. You’re - mine.”
> 
> And he needed the mental and physical comfort and reassurance involved in all this, though that wasn’t something he felt like voicing.

Prowl

> “I can believe it,” Prowl said tiredly. He was exhausted, and he wasn’t even the one who’d been interrogated. And maybe he’d never been at the end of such intense questioning he knew the draining horror that came from having someone dangerous inside his mind.
> 
> “ _You’re_  here.” Prowl reached up, wrapping his arms around Tarantulas’s waist again, pulling his weight down on top of him. It was heavy and reassuring. “I'm—I don’t expect you to believe it, much less accept it, but I am sorry.”

Tarantulas

> There was horror in it, to be sure, but in some ways Tarantulas wasn’t as frightened by the concept as Prowl was - probably something to do with how convoluted and difficult to parse his thoughts were. More frightening was the concept of Prowl knowing truths beneath the surface that he desperately needed to keep hidden.
> 
> Prowl - Prowl was reaching for him, inviting him, pulling him down, allowing their kibble and curves to slot together better than Tarantulas had anticipated. What a miracle, a never-ending novelty to him. A low purr: “I am.” His mandibles were tucked right in next to Prowl’s audials, and his vocals were quiet, resonant now, with no need for volume or dramatics.
> 
> “Heh… So long as you mean it as an emotional statement, as mentioned. That, I’m willing to accept.”

Prowl

> Prowl’s chest was in the way. His chest was always in the way. But he felt it more intensely now, when he was bigger than he’d ever been before and a huge fanglike push bar curved over his bumper, holding Tarantulas away. He wished he was as small as Tarantulas thought he was.
> 
> At least Tarantulas was flexible. Prowl leaned his helm into Tarantulas’s mandibles, dimming his optics. “However you want to interpret it.” He didn’t have the energy to argue meaning.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s chest wasn’t as in-the-way as he thought it was - call it a psychosomatic illusion. It did take some getting used to, with Tarantulas arching over the bumper slightly so his own fuzzy chest didn’t interfere too much, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. As much as Prowl appreciated the pressure, Tarantulas appreciated the support; it helped him arrange his lower half, one knee crooked and their legs tangled together just-so.
> 
> Mandibles nibbled gently at Prowl’s neck, audial, and helm. “You shouldn’t give me that freedom… not in general, at least.” Primus knew Tarantulas already read into things more than was actually there. “But… nnn. Not now. We’re not talking ‘sorry’ now.  _Anything_ else.”
> 
> Despite his fatigue, Tarantulas’ back limbs still managed to twitch and slowly stretch, attempting to settle around them. His actual arms mirrored the motions, now-clawless paws glued to Prowl’s edges, lines, and planes. And his tires, too - Tarantulas pressed and tested their two textures together as they spoke.

Prowl

> Prowl tilted his helm to give Tarantulas more access to his neck. Oh, that touch was agonizingly familiar, painfully nostalgic—no one else he’d ever been with had had a mouth like Mesothulas’s, no one else could leave those tingling, prickling little touches skittering across his armor.
> 
> At least Tarantulas was self-aware enough to know he couldn’t be trusted with that freedom. “Don’t worry, I won’t. The offer extends only to that one apology.” But, fine. No more sorrys. There would be time enough for that later. For now, Prowl was more than willing to enjoy being able to touch Tarantulas without 80% of the doubts and fears that he was doing something heinously wrong—and the remaining 20% could wait.
> 
> _Anything else,_  though. What anything else? He tried to think of something as he shifted his armor under Tarantulas’s touch, quietly giving him access to whatever edges and seams he wanted to explore. Future projects? No, that threatened to be far too intense for a night like this. He wasn’t ready to touch on rules for their future alliance; Tarantulas was still celebrating his new liberation, it was too soon to impose new restrictions. Talking of Springer would be too somber. “… You’ve asked me questions I wasn’t at liberty to fully answer. I can answer more of them now, if you want to ask again.”

Tarantulas

> Tingling, prickling little touches indeed - layered with tired nips and nuzzles. The mandibles weren’t  _quite_  the same as Mesothulas’ had been, but close enough, unique enough to have been hidden away behind a mask for so long. But - no longer.
> 
> Huh, previous questions, then? Give Tarantulas a moment to sift through their conversations, and… nnnnope. Nothing. Not a thing. Maybe if he wasn’t so drained he could sort something out, but he didn’t have the processing power or presence of mind at the moment.
> 
> “What if I  _pretended_ to ask, and you just told me the answers.” And as if to entice them out of him, one of Tarantulas’ legs nudged Prowl’s, and he pressed into a tire as if testing its pressure (which, he subconsciously was).

Prowl

> No, they weren’t identical—but they still felt more like Mesothulas than like anyone or anything else.
> 
> Now give  _Prowl_  a moment to try to sift through them. That’s a lot of recordings to try to sort through. Prowl really doesn’t want to sort through them all. He’s tired. “What if we pretend I gave you the answers, and go to sleep.”
> 
> Tire pressure’s a little lower than it should be, but he hasn’t been driving much lately. Nothing to worry about.

Tarantulas

> Fittingly so. Neither Tarantulas nor Prowl would be escaping Mesothulas’ ghost anytime soon.
> 
> “Hyeh… but I don’t  _want_  to recharge. I trust you understand why.” A faint ‘hm’ at the tire pressure, and he moved on, methodically caressing Prowl’s shoulder kibble and cupping the side of his jaw that wasn’t already being attended to. The size of his spidery paw in comparison to Prowl’s helm was almost comedic.
> 
> Obviously he didn’t want to recharge so as to savor the indulgence Prowl was currently allowing him - but then again, there was also the matter of the tank-twisting memory purge he dreaded was coming as well. The vivid glimpse into his mindscape that Soundwave had thrust upon him had been… well, disorienting, at best.

Prowl

> Even as exhausted as he had to be? He didn’t want to sleep?
> 
> Well—Prowl supposed that made sense. It was difficult to sleep after a harrowing experience, and difficult to sleep after especially wonderful news, and Tarantulas had just received both.
> 
> He let go of Tarantulas with one hand so he could run it up the back of the fuzzy claw currently cupping the side of his face. He wondered if Tarantulas was looking for anything specific—but no, he was probably just trying to learn what Prowl felt like. He could understand. He’d probably be doing the same thing if he wasn’t so tired.
> 
> “You’ll have to forgive me if I fall asleep on you.” He ran his thumb in lazy circles through the fur on Tarantulas’s claw. “I’ve had a long day. Not to say you  _haven't—_ but mine started earlier.”

Tarantulas

> A soft purr at Prowl’s hand on his claw. Any motion by Prowl was treasured, especially ones of encouragement like this, ones that gave attention to a frame not often attended to by others. And yes - Tarantulas was exploring; had Prowl ever seen him settle completely still?
> 
> “Construction?” More of a statement than a question - it just hadn’t been on his mind. “Is it too much to ask how it’s been, how it’s progressing?”

Prowl

> Never. He probably even twitched in his sleep.
> 
> “Construction,” Prowl confirmed. An opportunity to complain? He’ll take it. “It’s going slower than initially anticipated. We have to clear aside the rubble before we can use the site, but we can’t just bulldoze it aside because it’s not ground underneath, it’s Metroplex. If we aren’t careful we risk tearing or damaging his armor even more than it is now. So rather than scraping it all down and starting again, we’re carefully shoveling away the parts that are  _definitely_  broken from the parts that are damaged but not detached. And Metroplex is mostly white. It’s hard to visually differentiate grayed-out pieces from living pieces.”
> 
> A sigh. “At least it means I have something productive to contribute. If they were just bulldozing the site, all I’d be able to do is stand to the side and watch, which wouldn’t do anything to ingratiate me to the workers—who already dislike me both for my reputation and for the fact that I’ve been put in charge of them despite having no construction experience. This way, I can grab a shovel and help them out.”
> 
> Okay, he’d been on his back long enough. His doors and light bar were starting to protest. He tried to scoot himself toward the top of the berth. “Can I—sit up a little? You don’t have to get off.”

Tarantulas

> Probably, Prowl. You’ll find out soon enough.
> 
> Tarantulas continued to pet and shower little affections on Prowl as he spoke. “Do you literally use root-mode  _shovels_  to do the work? I imagine various alt-mode attachments might do a bit of a better job - for those who don’t already have the equipment, I mean - unless you’re that intent on sensing the difference between rubble and Metroplex, it’s…”
> 
> A small “oh!” at Prowl’s request. “Of course - however you like.” Cue Tarantulas resting back onto his knees instead of on Prowl’s chest, allowing him to shift however he wanted. No worries - Tarantulas was bound to find a way to fit himself back in Prowl’s arms no matter the position.
> 
> “Hmn… It’s  _beyond_   _me_  how they’d be… how to put it… so  _resistant_ to accepting your guidance. You may not be qualified or portrayed in the best light, but you’re - you’re so…”

Prowl

> “Yes—root mode. Those who have useful kibble use it, but most of us don’t. What excavators we’ve got  _have_  been using alt-mode to shovel away the obvious rubble where Metroplex’s anatomical blueprints say there won’t be parts of him underneath, but none of the others’ alt-modes have the finesse needed for this. It’s a slow process, but it’s… I want to do this correctly. Metroplex is a person—he can assist in repairing his own damage, if only we don’t make it worse.”
> 
> Prowl let go of Tarantulas’s claw to rub his optics. “Listen to me. I shouldn’t even know the difference between a bulldozer and an excavator. And even at that, I still don’t know enough to do this right. Maybe there’s a more efficient way to separate the dead pieces than by  _shoveling._  Maybe they all think I’m an ignoramus. The Constructicons should be able to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong, but…” But what if they had so much faith in Prowl that they assumed he was executing some clever plan when he wasn’t? What if they wanted him to flounder a bit so they could then step in with their expertise? What if they had no better ideas on how to clean rubble off a Metrotitan than him, but the other workers all did?
> 
> Prowl slid up to rest propped half upright against the back of the berth, then waited for Tarantulas to settle against him again. “Not everyone sees me in the same light you do,” he said. “They all know far more than me in the field where I’m trying to give them orders.  _And_  they see me as responsible for the damage they’re trying to repair. Why should they respect me?”
> 
> But it was, oddly, a minor comfort, to hear Tarantulas’s disbelief. If one of the greatest minds on Cybertron could respect and welcome the suggestions of a clueless cop who had no clue how this genius did his job—well, then why not construction workers?

Tarantulas

> “I don’t suppose… of course you don’t have the material or mechpower to make attachments for those who’d need them. …Real-life limitations.” A slight shiver of faux-horror, before his mind bounced onward. “Metroplex… Primus, I wish I could see blueprints, or visit the site, or…”
> 
> Once Prowl had positioned himself suitably, it was mere moments before Tarantulas had pressed back in, lazily gluing himself to the smaller frame in a similar fashion as before. Tarantulas did, however, take advantage of the opportunity to hook a claw behind Prowl’s back again, now that it was accessible - all the better to keep him close.
> 
> “I’d - I’d try to help you come up with something, but I’m afraid now… not really that useful.” A light apologetic squeeze. “…What’s stopping you from asking  _them_? The Constructicons don’t know anything? The other workers? They might respect you at least a  _little_ , if you deferred to their knowledge in a… a reciprocally respectful fashion? Does that make sense?”

Prowl

> “Why make shovel attachments for everyone that they’re not going to use again once this is over when we can just pass out shovels and pick them up when they’re done?”
> 
> Prowl tilted his head toward the door. “The blueprints are out there. We don’t have the actual ones from Metroplex, but we’ve done our best to reconstruct them based on Metroplex’s anatomy in other buildings and what we know about conventional construction techniques from when he last served as a city. I tried to reverse-engineer the building based on the rubble, but there were too many pieces.”
> 
> A lie. There was dust, sure, but the large slabs of rubble could fit together like puzzle pieces. But on that first day he’d been too mentally stunned to turn his brain on and fit the pieces together, and now they’d been broken apart and hauled away. Stupid. He’d gone to a construction site, not the frontlines, and he’d acted like a shellshocked recruit.
> 
> He pulled up his knees on either side of Tarantulas’s body, and wrapped his arms around Tarantulas’s back, hands sliding between two rows of legs. “The Constructicons and I have an arrangement; I don’t have to ask them, they know to step in and offer me anything I don’t know. If I was doing this wrong, they’d have told me.” He hoped. “I’m not—not sure about asking the other workers. It might cause them to like me a little better in the short term, but in the long term wouldn’t it simply decrease their respect for me if they know I actually know as little as they suspect I do?”

Tarantulas

> “I may be… a little  _impractical_  at times.” A huge and entirely true concession.
> 
> Tarantulas glanced in the direction of the blueprints - had he been awake, alert, and interested enough, he might have felt tempted to go snatch them in whatever form and come back. Meh. “…Too many pieces. Hmn. Now I’m even more inclined to visit, if…”
> 
> Thoroughly pleased humming at Prowl’s attentions - but they didn’t distract him from his words. “And you’re entirely  _sure_  they would tell you.” Nuzzle nuzzle flutter-of-mandibles nuzzle. “…I think… it’s best, both short and long term, actually. Hiding your lack of knowledge won’t do anything to  _change_  it, and you’re not - well, it’s hard to keep up pretenses. Trust me, I know.” A wry but unseen squint of his visor while his claw traced the kibble and armor on Prowl’s back.

Prowl

> “You don’t say? I wouldn’t have guessed.” The thinnest smile.
> 
> Prowl sees his temptation. He knows Tarantulas isn’t going to go. “The large pieces have been hauled away. Most have been smelted down by now. Metroplex’s buildings have to be infused with sentio metallico in order to synthesize correctly with his system, which means we have to recycle everything we can from the rubble. Or else  _some_  people will start suggesting we kill people and use  _their_  sentio metallico.” Prowl shot a glare toward the doorway.
> 
> “I’m sure.” Pause. “Mostly sure.” Pause. “I’ll ask them to be certain.” He doubted he’d get anything, but he could check. “But it wouldn’t be keeping up pretenses for ever. It’d be keeping up pretenses just until I’ve studied enough to actually know what I’m doing. If I say I don’t know anything now, they won’t trust me later when I  _do_  know something.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl got a nip at his neck cables for the sass.
> 
> “Of course they would.” The Constructicons might suggest offing bots for materials, but notably Tarantulas would only suggest the similar tactic of searching for and taking possession of  _already_ -dead bots. Almost as bad. Although… “I - I hesitate to out myself, but -” Awkward pause. “…Nevermind. Not - not a subject for now. Another time.“
> 
> A nod into Prowl’s shoulder to shift topics. “Good. Do so.” The spider might be toxic and manipulative, but he still valued the merits of proper communication. “But - practically speaking, you have to admit you’re never going to ‘catch up’ with veterans, Prowl dear. It just seems…  _easier_  to admit you’re not perfectly adept. Trust lost would be balanced by respect earned by admitting the truth… They likely already assume you’re in over your helm, you know.”

Prowl

> Nope. You’re not getting away with that. Prowl shifted slightly so he could look warily at Tarantulas’s visor. “What is it.”
> 
> As long as Tarantulas isn’t the one being expected to communicate, right? Prowl shook his head, “I have to admit no such thing. I’m having the sum total of five veterans’ knowledge fed to me,  _and_  I’m studying every scrap of knowledge I can get my servos on. These are construction workers who have always been construction workers, and they’re excellent at that; but I have to become everything from a construction worker to a grand architect. If I  _don’t_ catch up to and surpass them, then I’ve failed, and Cybertron will suffer for it.”
> 
> He may hate his new duties with every fiber of his being—but don’t let anyone say he isn’t taking them seriously.

Tarantulas

> Yes, he  _is_  getting away with it. Tarantulas glanced off once but didn’t look away otherwise. “… _Another time_. Eventually, I promise. It’s - not crucial or time-sensitive.” Damn himself for slipping up and even mentioning it in the first place - he wasn’t ready yet to explain to Prowl why he was working on fabricating his own sentio metallico.
> 
> “Well then - if you’re decently confident you’ll catch up… why fret? Lean on the Constructicons as long as you need, but… Doubting your capacities will only undermine your self-confidence, and Primus knows where that could lead.”

Prowl

> “Tarantulas, right now I’m exhausted. That means I don’t have the energy to be angry. We’re both better off if you tell me whatever it is now.” And if Tarantulas didn’t tell him now, Prowl would just dread it until he did.
> 
> “Because I haven’t caught up  _yet._  And who knows what stupid mistakes I might make until I do.”

Tarantulas

> “ _Why_  do you have to…” A groan of defeat, and Tarantulas buried his face in Prowl’s shoulder. Maybe if he hadn’t made a big deal of it, he could have remarked on it and it’d’ve passed unquestioned. “It’s… unimportant. In the early stages of… sentio metallico fabrication. Possibly useful for aiding your efforts with Metroplex, but I doubt it’ll be anytime soon, and has a high chance of being incompatible or even inflammatory, so…” Yes, ramble about Metroplex and maybe Prowl won’t pry.
> 
> Switching subjects could also help, right? “That - that’d be what conferring with the Constructicons would be for. And possibly the other workers, if that fails… Even if there  _is_  a chance of losing trust or respect, it - would be worth it, in my humble opinion.”

Prowl

> “Mm…” Prowl sighed quietly. “We still haven’t woken up Springer. Let’s finish that before you get too involved in making a second one.” Because what else would Tarantulas be messing with sentio metallico for?
> 
> But he wasn’t mad. He tilted his head to nuzzle Tarantulas’s.
> 
> He considered Tarantulas’s words silently a moment, staring into space as he ran calculations. And then, reluctantly, said, “You’re probably right.”
> 
> On another topic, is Tarantulas still playing with Prowl’s back kibble? If so, be careful under his light bar. It’s kind of sensitive. Very sensitive.

Tarantulas

> Of  _course_. Prowl didn’t even need to pry. He’d just poke lightly and leave Tarantulas to stew in his own mess. “…I can multitask,” he mumbled. “But… point taken.” They  _did_  need to wake Springer up - that’d come soon, wouldn’t it?
> 
> Heh - nuzzles and calculated admissions of correctness? Highly pleasing, and well-balanced by Tarantulas’ continued exploration of Prowl’s back, yes. His touches were rather heavy and not too adventurous or unpredictable, but one never could tell what effect it’d have on individualized frames.
> 
> “I  _hope_  I’m right. Do test out my hypotheses and - let me know how it goes. I know you’ll do well, Prowl.” Quiet, light purring. “You always do.”

Prowl

> Of course it would come soon. That was, after all, how Tarantulas had talked Prowl into not rejecting an alliance with him in the first place.
> 
> Well. Be careful back there. Because if Tarantulas’s little claws get too close, he’s getting an engine rev.
> 
> “You have unreasonably high expectations for me. I  _am_  capable of failure, you know.”

Tarantulas

> Forgive Tarantulas for losing track of things in the midst of the whirlwind of current events. Besides, it wasn’t as if Ostaros was his main goal anyhow.
> 
> “I have entirely reasonable expectations for you based on previous data.” Maybe not  _this_  Prowl’s data, but it was still relevant. “Being capable of failure doesn’t make you  _not_  ingenious, it just makes you  _mecha -_  and the chance is incredibly slim… especially in comparison to the likelihood of you  _living up_ to my dazzling expectations.” More purring.
> 
> And - what kind of an engine rev, pray tell? Because he wasn’t about to do any scratching, but he was definitely feeling around in some seams nearby.

Prowl

> “‘Incredibly slim’ is an exaggeration.” But, Prowl wouldn’t argue anymore. If Tarantulas wanted to believe Prowl could do anything, Prowl would choose to interpret that as encouragement.
> 
> Definitely a positive rev. Prowl tugged Tarantulas a little bit closer.

Tarantulas

> “…Only a tiny exaggeration. A statistically insignificant margin.” 
> 
> _Oh_. Oh. The vibrations from the rev and the tug were - encouraging. Both of them had said they weren’t up for interfacing, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t slip from cuddling into some more involved petting… or heavy petting, even. Tarantulas could scrounge up the energy for that, certainly. And lines between those sorts of things were blurry, really…
> 
> Thus began a leisurely game of hot-or-cold, Tarantulas testing bits of dorsal plating and kibble to see what was actually causing that positive response. All the while his mandibled face was still buried against Prowl’s neck and helm, with his other claw slowly smoothing along his side.

Prowl

> “I’d ask if I could see your math, but I’m afraid of what it would look like.”
> 
> _Mild_  petting. For now, Prowl was content to accept a bit of searching, but… no more. Not tonight. (He’d be able to stop things before they went any farther—right?)
> 
> It’ll be a slow search. The roof of his vehicle mode doesn’t get much of a reaction. If Tarantulas feels along the inside of Prowl’s doors—still lined with synthetic upholstery—they’ll twitch away from his touch. Nothing from the hinges on his top doors, although he’ll adjust his doors to give Tarantulas better access to explore. Medium positive reaction from hinges of his lower doors. If he wants  _real_  revs, try tracing along the slits where his windows retract into his car doors, or—as mentioned—under his light bar. Just be careful in there.
> 
> Meanwhile, Prowl ran his thumbs along the lines between Tarantulas’s back and his spider legs, tracing the shift from metal to flesh, more out of curiosity than any deliberate effort to get a reaction.

Tarantulas

> A muffled laugh in Prowl’s shoulder. “You say that as if I  _had_ any… as if half the time I’m not bluffing…” But when he’s not bluffing, you  _better_ be afraid, Prowl.
> 
> Tarantulas started with Prowl’s two sets of doors - there was little chance they were sensorily abundant given their use and location, but he’d rather spiral inward and pace things well. Not much reaction, hmm. Not til the hinges, which he did extend his claw into slightly. Snug little mechanical spaces like that were  _meant_  for claws to dig into - or maybe the other way around.
> 
> But - how  _dare_  you suggest Tarantulas would be anything less than careful. He was deft, precise, and cautious enough to have performed brain surgery on Prowl’s alternate already, and that was in an awful, stressful situation. Now, it felt like he had all the time in the world, and his processor was even starting to unravel from the unruly mess it’d wound itself up into earlier, giving him more than enough CPU to handle pressure, speed, and friction intricacies.
> 
> …Which were quite important once he’d stumbled upon Prowl’s window slits. First though, just a long, slow pass over the upper edge with a furred paw.
> 
> _Wait_ , scrap - OK, maybe it was fair to tell Tarantulas to be careful, if Prowl was going to play with his techno-organic seams like that. Spider legs tensed and flexed at the unexpected touch, and for a split second Tarantulas struggled internally. Should he brush Prowl off so he could focus? Or just…?

Prowl

> “I know you’re bluffing,” Prowl said. “That’s why I’m worried about what you’d throw out if I  _did_  ask for your math.” And oh, when Tarantulas isn’t bluffing, Prowl  _is_  afraid. Afraid and slightly awed.
> 
> A  _loud_  engine rev. Prowl hadn’t even known the window slits were sensitive. But those slim little claws sliding between his weather stripping was— _oh._  Yes. Even as he tilted his doors toward Tarantulas, he told himself that they were getting  _very_  close to the point where they’d have to quit for the night.
> 
> Legs twitching. Was that positive or negative? Prowl couldn’t read this new body language well enough to tell, so he stilled his thumbs. “Should I stop?”

Tarantulas

> “Something vaguely convincing - unsubstantiated, but impossible to undermine.”
> 
> An undeniably positive response from Prowl, along with a direct question… damnit. “No, no… it’s - pleasant.” He shifted the rotation of his limbs for better access, a subconscious mirroring of Prowl’s door motions. Play with those transitional areas enough and you’d have Tarantulas shivering against you just a bit, the odd, tingling sensation in his back just a little too much to suppress a reaction to.
> 
> Slowly again, Tarantulas ran back over the window slit bordering the doorwing, claw dragging slightly just under the weather stripping this time. It made sense that the seam would be sensitive - but exactly why it was  _this_  sensitive was a question Tarantulas would love to ask later.
> 
> But for now, just exploration, with a tinge of teasing.

Prowl

> “Impossible?  _Really?_  You think I wouldn’t be able to undermine an unsubstantiated mathematical claim?  _Pfft._ ” He directed his skeptical huff at the side of Tarantulas’s head.
> 
> Pleasant. Okay, good. He resumed, moving his hand down to the next row of legs.
> 
> Prowl tilted his door up toward Tarantulas’s claw, simultaneously grateful he’d slowed down and frustrated at the reduced stimulation.
> 
> (Meanwhile, a Constructicon has started lurking outside the room. No sound, no motion, no threatening looks; just sitting in a chair and unobtrusively watching.)

Tarantulas

> “I mean - I’d just keep concocting new data to support the original lie until you quit pestering me… which  _I’d_ call a success.” A series of light nips in retaliation.
> 
> Tarantulas’ spider legs stretched and spread apart as Prowl moved on, and he arched forward into Prowl with a breathy purr, fur sliding along metal. It was a singular sensation, and now that he thought of it, one that extremely few had the privilege of experiencing as a chimeracon did. Synthesized organic flesh with tech sensors? A rare combination.
> 
> More petting of the door’s edge, with Tarantulas’ other claw joining symmetrically on the opposite side. He was going to gradually lighten his touches until Prowl ordered otherwise or something else happened to throw him off.
> 
> If Tarantulas hadn’t been otherwise occupied he would certainly have noticed the lurking presence, but as it was, the Constructicon was free to supervise as he saw fit. No promises on what might happen to him if he attempts to interfere.

Prowl

> Prowl’s fuzzy sense of good cheer promptly deflated. “Is that what you consider a success?” he asked, subdued. “Talking me into submission? Making me shut up?”
> 
> It was too soon to be reminded that he hadn’t asked Tarantulas his last question:  _do you actually respect me?_
> 
> Prowl was relieved for the decrease in Tarantulas’s touch, both because it meant they were winding down and because of the sudden drop in his mood. He slowed his motions as well.

Tarantulas

> A complete dead stop in petting, and Tarantulas pulled back to look Prowl in the face. “What -  _no_! Of  _course_  not, it’s - why would I ever want to - I only meant, in the sense that it’d distract from the bluffing, which, would be ideal in order to further the conversation itself - I wouldn’t want to silence you, Prowl, I’d never.”
> 
> All of it was true, but that didn’t mean it answered the “respect” question whatsoever. Maybe a good idea to ask that sometime and clarify - but with the sudden panic in Tarantulas’ voice right now, he obviously wasn’t in a decent place to answer it in a reliable fashion. Nevermind how it’d affect his already-unstable mental state.

Prowl

> Prowl’s expression was dull. He didn’t believe it.
> 
> But he didn’t say anything. No point in asking about the respect issue now; he didn’t expect Tarantulas to say anything but  _of course I respect you,_  and he wouldn’t trust those words. Not like this. He lost his chance by ending the interrogation without asking.
> 
> No reaction, except that his caresses stopped completely; but he wasn’t pushing Tarantulas away. “It’s late.”

Tarantulas

> “No, but  _really_  - in any sort of debate it’s fruitless just to make the other side give up without - you  _know_  what I mean. I didn’t mean to -” A bit more equivocating, but Tarantulas trailed off after a while. Judging by the look on Prowl’s face, he’d already made up his mind on the matter.
> 
> Which was  _incredibly_  unfair, now that he thought about it. Prowl had just pressured him into allowing Soundwave to poke and prod around in his mind for answers to awful trick questions - and now he was getting mad at Tarantulas for saying something trivially questionable? A flicker of indignation ignited in Tarantulas’ chest.
> 
> “…You’re unfathomable.” He sank back into his former position. “And yes, relatively.” He’d let Prowl explain on his own what “late” might mean.

Prowl

> “How often do you want to debate?” Prowl asked. “And how often do you want… just… for me to give up and give you whatever you’re asking for.”
> 
> He shook his head. “No. Never mind. That’s… not tonight.” Things were supposed to get a little bit better tonight.
> 
> _Unfathomable_. A higher-vocabulary word for something Prowl had heard too many times before.  _I can’t understand you. You don’t make any sense. You’re so difficult. You’re uncooperative. You—_
> 
> Isn’t it self-explanatory?  _It’s late_  is shorthand for either “we should sleep” or “you should leave.” And Prowl wasn’t pushing Tarantulas off, so.

Tarantulas

> At least when Tarantulas called Prowl unfathomable, he meant it exasperatedly because he truly  _wanted_ to understand him. 
> 
> Some of the unfathomability was removed by Prowl’s words - although Tarantulas wasn’t sure he liked what he saw. It was only more distrust. More frowning. More implied disapproval. “I don’t -  _I don’t_. I don’t want that. I…”
> 
> For a twisted little moment, Tarantulas turned the tables. How often did  _Prowl_ want discussion, and how often did he want compliance? The answers his gut provided were simply more fuel for that little flame of indignation.
> 
> But Prowl didn’t want to talk about it now. Of course. Half of Tarantulas agreed - he was drained and his mental filing was in shambles - but another part of him hated Prowl dodging it, especially since Tarantulas was on a roll with all this self-disclosure stuff.
> 
> But… they weren’t talking about it, apparently. Which meant Tarantulas would just not talk at all and simply lie there in Prowl’s arms stewing in his own thoughts.

Prowl

> Didn’t he want that? No, not when they were just  _talking_ , but when there was something important, when he wanted to get something regardless of whether Prowl said no…
> 
> Prowl managed a several minutes of silence, processor fans whirling agitatedly. And then he gave up with a groan. “I can’t sleep. Do  _you_  want to sleep, or do you want to talk about it?” Without a doubt, Tarantulas  _needed_  the sleep. But if this was keeping Prowl up, it was probably keeping Tarantulas up too.

Tarantulas

> It certainly was. Even though his brain module had started throwing alerts at him, Tarantulas maintained consciousness out of mere passive-aggressiveness.
> 
> A moment of silence, and then Tarantulas flushed out his vents. “I don’t think I can sleep, no. But - what is there to say? It’s clear you’ve already made up your mind.”

Prowl

> “I tend to make up my mind about a lot of things. That doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to be proven wrong.”
> 
> What did he say? It would be disingenuous to try to take back the words, because he thought they were true. And he thought this was too small for an apology.
> 
> So… he’ll wait. Wait and see what Tarantulas says next.

Tarantulas

> A slight twitch. That may or may not have rubbed Tarantulas the wrong way a little bit more. “It’s not particularly enjoyable to… to  _defend_ myself constantly.
> 
> “More specifically, it’s as if you’ve defaulted to assuming the  **worst** of me, instead of literally - literally  _anything_  else. I know I may have made a negative overall first impression, or… either that, or there are more incongruities between proximal alternates than I thought, but - it doesn’t compute. Or, if it does, the computational hardness is out of my league.” 
> 
> If Tarantulas had been thinking straight, he might have also mentioned something about the seemingly disproportional extent of Prowl’s reaction to his “worst.” Something something “most people wouldn’t go out of their way to interrogate and mind-read someone just to assuage their own fears” something.

Prowl

> “I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t mean you have to actively convince me I’m wrong. You just have to—exist. In a manner that makes me wrong. And then I’ll see I’m wrong.” Pause. “That doesn’t sound better, does it? I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”
> 
> Prowl sighed. “There… are incongruities between you and your alternates.” Tarantulas was right, it  _was_  disproportionate. But not without reason.

Tarantulas

> A small exasperated noise. “No, it doesn’t. You’re just reiterating what I said, but ignoring that  _existing_ means choices, and choices are actions that exert effort.” But at least Prowl sort of recognized he hadn’t made it better. Points for that.
> 
> Suddenly a dual wave of acuity and exhaustion swept through him. “… _Well_ then.” What in the pits did - what incongruities? Did he even want to know? Tarantulas shifted in place, stalling while he tried to parse it out.
> 
> Carefully: “Could you please elaborate? And you left off ‘proximal.’ Was there a reason…?”

Prowl

> “I meant—I meant you don’t have to do anything you weren’t going to already. And if— _when_  I’m wrong,” let’s try to be mildly optimistic, “I’ll see that.” A moment to review that too; and then a harsh sigh at himself. “That’s not… I’m… Words are impossible.”
> 
> Be that as it may, he had to figure out how to use them now—Tarantulas deserved that. “There are other versions of you, who  _are_  dangerous. Truly dangerous. Working as agents for Unicron—a chaos entity that wants to destroy everything, and very similar to the D-Void. So when you showed up all of a sudden, bearing the same name as an agent of Unicron, claiming to idolize the mech that tried to destroy everything and created the D-Void…
> 
> “That was why the—the test. All the caution. The efforts to keep you at arm’s length. It’s—that’s—not what I wanted. I had to make sure you weren’t like those alternates, and lying to get close enough to do… whatever an agent of a chaos bringer would come to Cybertron to do.” Optic contact was difficult. He couldn’t focus on lining up words through it. So he was silent a moment, lining up what he wanted to say first, before he lifted his gaze to meet Tarantulas’s, and thank goodness he wore a visor now or this would be that much harder. “Tarantulas—you didn’t deserve a thing I put you through. But I had no way to know you didn’t deserve it until we were done. And—again—I am sorry.”

Tarantulas

> “If you know it’s a matter of  _when_ , why would you even - ?”
> 
> But the point was moot; anything Prowl had said before the whole agent-of-Unicron part was promptly dumped from Tarantulas’ mind. He held still long enough for Prowl to say what he wanted to say, but only that long - spider legs twitched and flared as he shakily pulled away from their previously celebratory embrace.
> 
> Words bubbled up out of his choked vocalizer all the while. “Of - of  _course_  there are! Are you forgetting the fact that it’s quite literally a  _multiverse_  and whatever  _can_  happen  **will**? Not to mention the fact that those alternates don’t even sound - as if you could extrapolate to  _me_ , and simply - ” One claw dragged itself down Tarantulas’ face, then the other - then he clutched his head with his claws for a brief moment as if to attempt to quiet the storm brewing inside. No luck there.
> 
> At least he was on the other side of the berth from Prowl now, perched almost on the foot’s edge, safe - although whether it was for his own safety or for Prowl’s was up for debate. A full-body shudder before he spoke again, his visor flaring slightly, vocals tenuous at best. “ _You should’ve cut to the chase_. Invaded my mind first. Avoided all that  _other_  torture you saw  _fit_ to put me through. Damnit, I was  **right**. I was _right_. And I didn’t even -  _Primus_. I shouldn’t’ve even -”
> 
> No, probably not a good time to mention any of  _Prowl’s_  alternates. Or maybe it  _was_  a good time - it’d be a nice reminder to him that precious C-Prowl wasn’t the only one out there. Maybe F-Prowl or G-Prowl wouldn’t have done this to Tarantulas, would have welcomed him with open arms. C-Prowl should feel damn  _lucky_.

Prowl

> And Prowl was alone. Fine. He deserved it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “Anything  _can_  happen—but some things are more probable than others. Some things happen over and over. That one happened over and over. The probability was too high—I couldn’t risk it.”
> 
> He didn’t want to watch Tarantulas. Not like this, trembling and clutching his head, obviously in agony. He made himself watch anyway, the way he’d made himself watch Tarantulas-Mesothulas as he was interrogated. You did this, Prowl, you did this to him. You can’t alleviate his suffering and you can’t feel it yourself, but you can witness it, every second of it, every second of what you’ve done.
> 
> “I didn’t  _want_  to invade your mind. I wanted to find another way. Something that wouldn’t hurt. But I—failed.”

Tarantulas

> Maybe not so much “agony” as “suppressed tumult” - which now crumbled into something else entirely.
> 
> “ _Failed._ You  **failed**. _”_ Partly repetition, partly scathing agreement. “There were - there had to be - a  _million_  other ways to play this out and you chose  _this_. No,  _these_  - these  **two**  ways that hurt - because you can’t lie to yourself and tell me the weeks I’ve spent dangling by a fraying cord  _didn’t_  cause me mental anguish, I won’t permit deluding yourself into thinking it was all just a  _cakewalk_.”
> 
> Prowl may not be able to alleviate Tarantulas’ suffering, but he might be able to feel some if Tarantulas lashes out at him the right way. And bless the poor mech, he’s trying. Still holding various parts of himself, but glaring sharply while he rambles.
> 
> “You know, I’m not even sure I believe you on that - not  _wanting_  to pick my brain module over. Agent of Unicron? A _stand-in_ , at best. You simply held out until you felt you had sufficient reason to get away with prying. And I’m - in  _awe_ , actually.” A harsh laugh. “You could have done so much  _more_.” For example, used the opportunity to zero in on irrelevant emotional subjects. “You  _know_  I wouldn’t have resisted.  _Couldn’t’ve_  resisted.”

Prowl

> “If there was a better way to confirm that you weren’t like your alternate—I couldn’t think of it,” Prowl said. “I’m not lying to myself. I know that pushing you away hurt you. If I had known I wouldn’t find another way… I should have done this much earlier, to spare you the pain of waiting.”
> 
> He’s not arguing. He’s not going to argue. He’s correcting when Tarantulas is wrong, but he’s not arguing. Arguing would be an attempt to deflect the verbal spears Tarantulas was hurling; correcting was helping improve their aim.
> 
> Because he wanted to feel Tarantulas’s suffering. That, that was Prowl’s punishment for what he’d done—for everything he’d ever done. Living with the echoes of the suffering he’d caused. And the punishment was ineffective if he didn’t face the consequences directly—if he didn’t delve into the reports of the fallout, or visit the site of the tragedy, or let the victims lash out at him. So let Tarantulas rail at him.
> 
> Ironically, the more gladly you invite suffering, the less it stings. You’re so open to it that it moves right through you, like sunlight through a net, just a quick electric hiss against your nerves, and it vanishes without leaving the scars it should. But Prowl would keep trying.
> 
> Prowl shook his head—no, no, no. “Every question I asked you was about ways you might help pose a cataclysmic threat. Whether through working with Unicron, or with the D-Void, or with Shockwave, or with a Phase Sixer. Every single question. That was all I asked. I  _had_  to ensure you were safe—but I didn’t  _want_  to. I couldn’t ask any more than that.”

Tarantulas

> The calm corrections were almost more painful than if Prowl had tried to argue with him. Prowl keeping his cool, Prowl not denying anything, just… he didn’t have any  _right_. How  _dare_  he simply sit there and take it.
> 
> “So is it  _alternate_  or  _alternate **s**_? How many? Which cluster? Because if they’re not even in - they’re not, are they. I  _swear_  -” A shudder, his visor narrowing. “I can understand some - some of it. But that doesn’t make it any  _better_. That doesn’t make it permissible, or reasonable, or dare I say, logical - at least to  _me_. 
> 
> “How do you even  _quantify_  mental and emotional damage? Did you account for that? Are there numbers? Please tell me Prowl, I  _have_  to know, sincerely - how much am I  **worth** to you?”
> 
> Tarantulas let the words linger in the air before he went on. “…How… how much do you actually trust me? Or rather, how much trust do you  _lack_? Quite a bit, apparently, enough to think I’d risk a universe - or _you_ , you in the plural, if you have to think of it that way - over destructive forces like that, no matter how powerful or ludicrously tempting. You know - why didn’t you simply send me on my way, reject me, play the part of an unwilling participant, if you were  _that_ averse, that suspicious?  _Certainly_  it would have had less likelihood of ticking me off to the point of nixing your universe, if that were the truth.”

Prowl

> “Alternates,” Prowl corrected. “I was initially alerted to the possibility of one; I did research and found many. I—don’t know what you mean by cluster.”
> 
> Prowl frowned, processor fans kicking up, running calculations. “Do—do you  _want_  the numbers? They’re in units nobody uses except me. It would take me hours to explain how units of mental and emotional damage convert into anything comprehensible, there’s too many steps in between.” But Prowl can do the math, Tarantulas. Never doubt that.
> 
> The hardest of questions to answer. Not that he didn’t have a number for Tarantulas’s worth, oh no—it was just too high for him to confess. “You’re worth less than a universe,” Prowl said. “Any given individual, no matter who they are or what their potential, is worth less than a universe. That’s the problem. With the possibility of a risk to reality itself… I had to weigh you against a universe. You weighed less. It didn’t matter how much you matter to me.”
> 
> He shook his head, “ _Trust_  is irrelevant here. Trusting someone means calculating a low probability that they’re being deceptive based on a history of non-deceptiveness. We don’t have a history. Trust isn’t something all strangers are entitled to a sum of the first time I meet them, and that is what you were when you arrived. I operate on  _probability._  On the likelihood, based on known facts, that you would be a danger. Known facts say there’s a twelve percent chance of any random Tarantulas being an agent of Unicron, and not only is twelve percent far too high a probability to risk the existence of the universe on, but you’re not any random Tarantulas—you’re one that demonstrated many warning signs of being, if not involved with chaos entities, then dangerously at risk of becoming involved.”
> 
> Was there any point in clarifying that  _send him on his way_  was never an option? It was either  _pass the tests_  or  _execution_? No. No, he didn’t need to know that. “I didn’t reject you because there was an eighty-eight percent chance you were harmless,” Prowl said. “It’s not worth risking the universe over a possibility as high as twelve percent—but it’s not worth throwing you away over a possibility as low as twelve percent. I had to find out.”
> 
> He looked down at the berth. “Would you have… preferred if I had sent you away? Would you have rather been told to move on to a version of me without these doubts?” Not that the answer mattered. If Tarantulas said  _yes_ , it wouldn’t change the fact that that had never been an option, and it wouldn’t change what Tarantulas had been through. But, a  _yes_  would hurt. That was important.

Tarantulas

> A dismissive flick of a claw. “Another time.” Explaining multiverse theory to Prowl right now would be too much, too much.
> 
> Did he want the actual numbers? “…Yes. I’d  _very_  much like to hear them. I’ll inquire about units another time.” A pensive pause. “And that -” the weighing of Tarantulas against a universe “- seems… marginally logical. But you’re  _not_ allowed to worm your way of answering my question like that. You know better than to try.”
> 
> Twelve.  _Twelve_. More squinting. “That’s unusually high. Questionably so. I’m checking your math on that once we combine data sets. I’ll reserve judgment until then.”
> 
> Now it was Tarantulas’ turn to answer a tough question. But it was already telling, if Prowl noticed the way he turned his head away just a fraction and the tiny whisper of his vents stalling to nothing. “…It’d be a multivariable time-dependent function.” …With a tendency toward yes.

Prowl

> Another time. Fair enough.
> 
> Did he really? Prowl hesitated. “… Seventeen point two. Plus or minus five, because I don’t know how you think and feel, and I'm—not good, at reading other people. For reference, twenty is the threshold at which there’s a fifty percent chance a single incident will induce PTSD.”
> 
> Scrap. Why wasn’t that good enough? It should be good enough. Prowl was not in any way, shape, or form comfortable with directly answering that question.
> 
> Right now he didn’t deserve to be comfortable. How comfortable had he made Tarantulas?
> 
> “… A lot.” There’s your answer, Tarantulas. Look at Prowl’s face. It physically pained him to give it.
> 
> “Why is it unusually high? Look at yourself—look at what you’re interested in. Dangerous substances, Shockwave’s work, distancing yourself so far from other people that you call our entire race a specimen. You didn’t fall in with any chaos entities—but don’t you see how a version of you could have? What if at the start of the war Shockwave had sought out your services instead of me? What if some cultist offered to give you a supply of a bizarre little energon variant that rumor has it could animate a body without a spark, and all you had to do was sign on for the worship of some laughably over-the-top god you didn’t even think was real?” Prowl paused, to let Tarantulas think that over. “All it would take is a version of you given the wrong opportunity at the right time. But… yes. You can check my math.”
> 
> Well, if it’s time Tarantulas needs—"Our second meeting. When you came by to—to give me these.“ Prowl reached under his shin armor to extract the colorful magnets Tarantulas had given him. “If I had told you to leave then. Refused your gift, revoked our agreement to help Springer, and rejected you completely. If nothing you said could sway me. What would you have done?”

Tarantulas

> 12.2 to 22.2, against a lower threshold of 20. Give Tarantulas a moment to dwell on that. “…As if this’d be the incident that’d induce PTSD for me.” Surprisingly, he didn’t sound bitter - just twistedly amused.
> 
> The more pained the face Prowl made when confessing Tarantulas’ subjective worth, the better, even if it was only two words and not a number value. “A  _lot_ ,” he repeated. “A lot. Not as much as a universe, but more than a little. That’s extremely informative.” Trivialize Prowl’s discomfort. Ruffle his feathers more. That’s the spirit.
> 
> And, in turn, Tarantulas received a put-down as well - a fairly thorough one. “…I wouldn’t have agreed to work with the cultist. Shockwave… I’m not sure. But there’s no telling which way any of that could have gone, or what path I personally would have taken. I’m - I still don’t believe  _twelve_. And I don’t desire destruction. That’s antithetical to - to literally  _everything_ I’ve ever done.” He truly believed it.
> 
> But then: dead, cold silence. What did he want to do? Hurt Prowl? Tell the truth? Blur lines? Make excuses? Refuse to answer? His optics were fixed on the magnets, rearranging them in his mind according to the program he’d written for them those many weeks ago, just so he didn’t think about the fact that Prowl still had them and kept them on his person.
> 
> But the thought of F-Prowl and G-Prowl bubbled back up, acidic and ruthless. 
> 
> “I would’ve left.”

Prowl

> “I certainly hope not.” But Prowl had seen many people who had had their minds invaded. Had been one himself. Tarantulas, at least, had been given the option to refuse and the right to back out at any time—but Prowl didn’t know if that helped, given the coercive nature of the test.
> 
> Yes, okay, all right, it wasn’t a terribly informative answer. Prowl focused on the berth. He’s not adding anything more unless Tarantulas asks him to directly.
> 
> Prowl hadn’t meant it as a put-down. Only facts. “You don’t desire destruction—but you cooperate with it, if the process is fascinating enough, or the scientifically valuable yields are high enough. There’s a part of you that’s willing to build bombs to use on civilians and that’s willing to accept offers from those who want to raze living planets. That’s exploitable.  _I’ve_  exploited it. Bigger monsters could exploit it too, if they were patient and they didn’t tell you everything about what you were signing up for until it was too late.”
> 
> Prowl had expected that answer. It still stung, very slightly. Good. But it was only reasonable, wasn’t it? Why would Tarantulas stay around if he knew he was never going to win Prowl’s approval? What would he have to gain?
> 
> He closed his hands around the magnets. “Do you want to leave now?”

Tarantulas

> Did being subjected to the Noisemaze count as having one’s mind invaded? Tarantulas almost said something snide about it, but it fizzled out too quickly to voice.
> 
> “I’m willing to build bombs and accept offers like that because they’re - on the grander scheme of things - it’s -” A groan, a claw to his face, and his optics went offline. “We’ve already been through this. You  _know_  my thoughts. But - your point… stands.” A difficult thing to admit, but…
> 
> Tarantulas heard the slight click of the magnets and his optics came back online. Did he want to leave? Did he?  _Did he_?
> 
> It started out as a quiet “hyeh,” but it quickly devolved into outright laughter, insanity bleeding in around the edges. One paw covering his mandibles wasn’t enough to muffle the noise, so, two - but it couldn’t stop the violent shaking or the leg-twitching. Oh, Primus, it  _hurt_ to - but, something - something’d  _snapped_.
> 
> Then -  _crash-clatter-thunk_ \- Tarantulas lost control and fell backward off his perch, his spider legs harmlessly absorbing most of the impact. It left him sprawled on the floor and wheezing slightly, some faint giggling still leaking out.

Prowl

> Prowl nodded in agreement—yes, he  _did_  know Tarantulas’s thoughts. Far better than he should. “You’re safe. I know that know. I didn’t before, but I do now.”
> 
> Laughter? Prowl stared at Tarantulas, worried. He’d had a list of expected reactions.  _Hysterical laughter_  wasn’t on the list. “Ta—?” And Tarantulas fell. “ _Tarantulas?!_ ” Prowl uncurled from himself, scrambled to the edge of the berth, and leaned over the end to look at Tarantulas.
> 
> “Are you…?” Tarantulas wasn’t going to be in any condition to report how he felt, was he? Prowl’s gaze bounced over him, checking his organic parts for any sign he’d bruised or torn something. No obvious damage. Now what? What did he do? Was that a yes or a no?
> 
> A moment of hesitation; and then Prowl slid off the berth to the floor next to Tarantulas, and curled up again.

Tarantulas

> No, no, nothing outwardly wrong. Tarantulas constructed himself too well to allow for that. His mind, now - that was a different story.
> 
> By the time Prowl had settled next to him, Tarantulas had the presence of mind to know he was there; but aside from sparing him a glance, he didn’t do anything but hiccup once or twice.
> 
> Eventually some mumbling. “Am I… h-hyeh. Am I what? Am I OK?” A thoughtful pause. “Yes… No. I don’t know. Something like that. I can’t believe… There’re so many things… Do I want to _leave… **now** …_”

Prowl

> Well, he didn’t push Prowl away. That was a good sign.
> 
> All right. Prowl was going to take that to mean a no, Tarantulas didn’t want to leave. “I’m a sunk cost. You’ve invested all this time and effort into me—you don’t want it to be a waste. That’s understandable. But, you… I am not precisely an ideal catch. I hurt you. Not just once, but over time. If you wanted nothing to do with me after that…”
> 
> He fell silent for a moment. Trying to put words together. “I could— I’d be willing to— I don’t know. Write a, a letter of recommendation. To my next alternate, so they’d know you’ve already been tested for chaotic affiliations. To make things easier next time.” A jerky shrug that was hampered by the fact that his arms were wrapped around his knees again.

Tarantulas

> If Prowl had said anything else, Tarantulas wouldn’t have heard it. He was back to giggling again - although much calmer than before, thank goodness. But -  _a letter of recommendation_. Really. Prowl had said other things too - wait, what had he said…?
> 
> “Oh - oh. One: that’s not, hyeh. Not why I’d stay. Which - I  _am_. Just to clarify.” He tried to sit up a bit, and succeeded in propping himself up without wobbling. Good enough.
> 
> “Two: no. Nonono. No. Shhhh. That… doesn’t translate.  _Hurting_  me just makes me  _upset_ , it doesn’t make you ‘not an ideal catch.’ I - well, I suppose no one’s ideal, but - you understand. It’s not  _like_  that.
> 
> “And three: why in the  _world_  do you think another Prowl would believe - just a  _letter_? Even if it wasn’t a letter-letter. You had to have a telepath noodle their way into my head before you declared me ‘ _safe_ ,’ for crying out loud. If anything, it’d just raise suspicion.”

Prowl

> “What, you mean to say you find me  _more_  appealing than all the hundreds of versions of me out there that potentially might not be as suspicious of you at first meeting? As you said: this is a multiverse, whatever  _can_  happen  _will_.” A thin, sardonic smile that looked more like a grimace. “You’re  _settling_ , Tarantulas. We both know you are.”
> 
> The grimace turned into a proper frown. “… Your standards are too low. If someone—I realize I’m shooting myself in the foot here, but—if someone hurts you, deliberately, that should… probably be a dealbreaker.” And yet, Prowl was letting this happen. Wasn’t he.
> 
> He could control this, this time. He would control this. And, provided Tarantulas cooperated, they would figure out how to do this without hurting each other.
> 
> “I didn’t mean literally a letter, that’s just—  _Symbolically_  a letter. I could comm him. Or… whatever.” He sighed. “Doesn’t matter.” Tarantulas was staying.

Tarantulas

> “I’m not  _settling_. I  **like**  you.” An oddly-timed adoring quirk of his visor. “There’s - it’s -  _you_. The paranoia. And it’s not inherently a negative trait. Lazy Prowl wouldn’t be  _Prowl_. This whole situation still infuriates me, but -” A weak shrug. Apparently a small mental breakdown was all it took to temper his previous temper.
> 
> A half-hearted scoff. “My standards are perfectly perfect, I’ll have you know. Besides, we’ve already been through the whole  _Noisemaze_ deal, in case you forgot - I’m a  _forgiving_  mech, hyeh. What - what can I say?” So apparently repeated intentional harm wasn’t a dealbreaker after all, but Tarantulas wasn’t about to say that out loud. After a moment of thought, he added: “I’m  _sure_  you can make it up to me  _somehow_.”
> 
> And Tarantulas’ only response to the last point was to lean over and gently shush-pat Prowl with a claw. He was right and Prowl knew it, and it really  _didn’t_  matter, so.

Prowl

> “You shouldn’t,” Prowl said. “You shouldn’t like someone who hurts you repeatedly. Not just  _me,_  but anyone.”
> 
> He sighed quietly. “I don’t think you should have forgiven me for the Noisemaze, either. But, that’s not my decision to make for you.” He hoped he could make it up to Tarantulas.
> 
> So, they were on touching terms again. He scooted over until he was pressed against Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> “Mhmn, don’t tell me what I  _should_  or  _shouldn’t_  do. You know better than that.” Tarantulas let his claw fall as Prowl wriggled over. “Let’s just claim the Noisemaze messed with my processor enough to - to alter - whatever’s relevant.” His free claw gestured vaguely, then fell to join the other one. “…It’s probably true anyhow. Hyeh.”
> 
> Then he just outright flopped backward, now that Prowl was close. Floor. Flat. Solid. Good. Even better as he tugged on Prowl’s leg in an effort to get him to join him somehow.

Prowl

> “That isn’t a good thing. That’s significant personality-altering damage. Even worse if it’s leading you to accept people who repeatedly hurt you.”
> 
> Prowl’s not laying down. He sleeps sitting up. But, after a moment of thought, he readjusts himself.
> 
> There. Now his legs go over Tarantulas’s abdomen—feet on one side, butt on the other, knees in the air. Is this a viable cuddle position?

Tarantulas

> “I don’t - I don’t  _think_  it significantly altered my personality. I don’t know… I’d ask you about your Mesothulas - but there’s no basis of comparison there, hyeh. You don’t know the… the  _inverse_ me, and I don’t know  _his_  inverse  _me_.” The words made sense in his head when he thought of them, honest. “Besides, what’s done is done. For better or worse - doesn’t matter.  _C’est la vie._ ” Another vague claw gesture.
> 
> Pleased bruxing as Prowl rearranged himself. Yes, yes, this was a viable cuddle position. Tarantulas briefly flared his abdominal plating to push at Prowl’s legs playfully, but settled down with one claw petting Prowl’s thigh and one behind his own helm like a pillow. Spider legs were good and all, but right now they couldn’t really serve that function - they were just shifted up and curled out of the way as much as they could be.

Prowl

> “You’re the one who proposed the possibility,” Prowl pointed out. “He doesn’t have an inverse you. He’s dead.” And yes that is worth explicitly pointing out, even though both of them already know it, because it’s Prowl’s fault. “It matters. Things that happened before still matter even when they can’t be changed.  _Especially_  when they can’t be changed.”
> 
> In response, Prowl scooted his heels back, pressing his tires into Tarantulas’s side. “Are we going to sleep this time?” He let go of his knees with one arm to slide his hand over Tarantulas’s claw.

Tarantulas

> “Yes, yes he does,” Tarantulas insisted, ignoring the ‘dead’ part. “I’m Tarantulas - inverse Mesothulas - and he’s inverse Tarantulas. Although I don’t think… wait. This depends on if… if inversion is more like, err. If it expends energy, or, what’re the words I’m thinking of.” His optics squinted offline as he tried to focus. “If it’s - a process instead of a mere designation change. Which… it is.  _Was_. Whatever. I suppose you’re right then.” His visor went relaxed again, now slightly dimmer.
> 
> “Not  _especially_  - I’d think the opposite. If it can’t be undone, why should it be mourned? …Well, mourned  _briefly_  and moved past. Inner peace and all that. I can’t compare myself to Mesoth - damnit, I can, can’t I. I suppose I simply can’t be sure  _how_  I changed, or  _why_. But that’s not even what we were talking about, was it…”
> 
> A little surprised-happy noise at the tires to his side, but it slipped down into a sigh. “…We - should. Maybe.” He kept petting Prowl’s leg, but it was lazily, without much effort behind it. Tarantulas really was feeling the stress-related consequences to his system, especially after the shaking, unrestrained laughter.

Prowl

> Prowl barely followed that. He was pretty sure they were working with different definitions of what made an inversion of a person. But Tarantulas was content that he’d resolved the issue, and even though Prowl thought he hadn’t resolved it in the way Prowl had intended, he wasn’t going to question it. He was tired, it was late, and he was already going to be exhausted tomorrow.
> 
> “I didn’t say it should be mourned. But it should be taken into account. It affects things. The consequences of a change linger. The past can’t be simply dismissed as no longer relevant.”
> 
> Was that a good sound? Probably. Prowl turned his tires slightly, rubbing against Tarantulas’s side. “Definitely. I have work tomorrow. And I need more than four hours of sleep at a time.” His fingers hovered over the back of Tarantulas’s claw, giving him room to move and keep petting, and also letting Tarantulas’s fuzz brush between Prowl’s fingers. So strange. But, in a way he can get used to.

Tarantulas

> “It’s  _relevant_ , but… not in the way you’re thinking, I suppose. The Noisemaze changed me, surely… but it’s -  _was_ \- part of my development, I suppose? Taking into account the overall arc, like a storyline.” Totally not fourth-wall-breaking right there, nope.
> 
> Some soft but definitively-happy purring noises from Tarantulas at the tire-rubbing. It made it hard to sound sad and sympathetic when he spoke. “That’s true… poor Prowl. How much  _will_ you be getting, then?” More slow petting, his clawtip retracting for maximum scratchless fuzz enjoyment.

Prowl

> “The arc that preceded it can’t be forgotten, though,” Prowl said. “Nor can how the arc changed be dismissed.”
> 
> Definitely a good sound. In that case, he gently turned his tires back and forth. He’d get too tired to keep it up soon, but for now it was nice.
> 
> He looked at Tarantulas with the dead optics of a mech who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, this time tomorrow, he would be one with the Afterspark. “Six hours.”

Tarantulas

> A noncommittal noise at Prowl extending the metaphor. Tarantulas didn’t really care  _that_  much, and this was just another one of those winding, aimless debates they tended to ramble down anyhow.
> 
> A massage? Tarantulas was getting a tire massage? More purring. If the purring and content squinting would make Prowl keep going, that’s just what Tarantulas would do.
> 
> He punctuated the experience with a short laugh. “That’s - barely 43% function regained, assuming linear progress. I’m so, so sorry… Not - not an  _apology_ , since it’s  _your_  fault, but. Still, an emotional statement.”

Prowl

> … Meh. If Tarantulas wasn’t going to continue, neither was Prowl.
> 
> Something like a massage. More like meaningless repetitive rubs. And he might be leaving tiny black streaks on Tarantulas’s side. But yes, he’ll keep going as long as Tarantulas appears to be happy and Prowl maintains the focus for it.
> 
> “It’s  _partially_  your fault. You’ve been  _talking_ ,” Prowl said, only moderately accusatorially. “And it’s not linear. It’ll be closer to 25% functional.”

Tarantulas

> When Tarantulas notices the black streaks later, he’ll be delighted. Mostly because of the adorable humor in it, but also partially because it means he can take a sample.
> 
> “You’ve been talking  _back_ ,” Tarantulas pointed out. “And I - I’m even more sorry now, but - I want the data sometime.” More purring, slightly dreamier. He was imagining taking a live feed - hooking up to Prowl during recharge and just cuddling with him the whole time while he documented what he wanted. Beautiful. He’d definitely have to bring it up someday.
> 
> “Are we sleeping here? On the floor? Because I’m.. this is… satisfactory.” His visor flickered out completely, though he still gave signs of consciousness.

Prowl

> “Of course I’ve been talking back,” Prowl said, as though the mere suggestion that he wouldn’t was preposterous.
> 
> “Mm. I’ll show you the graph sometime.” Surely Tarantulas didn’t expect Prowl to give him the data directly?
> 
> “If you’re fine with it.” What was a floor but a big berth? Prowl had gotten used to sleeping on the floor, anyway. He and the Constructicons couldn’t fit on a berth together.
> 
> His optics turned off, his hand sank down atop Tarantulas’s claw, and his little tire-turns grew sporadic.

Tarantulas

> Sleepily: “Of course. Yes.” Tarantulas could see the preposterousness of it clearly now. A slow nod at the graph comment - of course Prowl wouldn’t know he wanted far more. Yet. They’d get there.
> 
> “Hyeh. There’s no way I’m getting up… even if it  _were_  uncomfortable. Which, it’s not.”  _Slightly_  untrue, since Tarantulas was more accustomed to sleeping in a hammock of his own making, but he’d certainly slept on the floor on more than one occasion lately. He’d be perfectly fine.
> 
> The only thing Tarantulas was aware of before he drifted off into recharge was Prowl’s touch - that intermittent roll-nudge and the light but constant weight on his claw. Eventually, said claw slipped off Prowl’s leg and onto the floor.
> 
> But -  _Prowl_. Prowl. Precious Prowl. Finally.

Prowl

> “Mm, good.” He had worried Tarantulas would be uncomfortable, since he was putting the weight of his mostly metal frame on top of his spindly organic legs.
> 
> His tires stopped twitching as his optics turned off completely, and he drifted off. But never forgot that Tarantulas was there. When the claw slipped out from under his hand, in his sleep he shifted his arms around so that he could put a hand on Tarantulas again.
> 
> Once the Constructicon in the doorway was satisfied that Tarantulas was asleep, he signaled to the others, and they crept into the room. They piled on, under, and around the berth, touching Prowl as much as they could without having to brush Tarantulas; Bonecrusher reached under Prowl’s chest to plug a couple of hardline cords into his abdominal ports. Properly wired up together, at last, they fell asleep.
> 
> And Prowl dreamt, for the first time in a very long time, of wondrous new creations.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas dreamt more often than Prowl did - but apparently this recharge session, his fragmented processor had had enough of chaos and mind-fuckery and boycotted the whole thing entirely. So long as there wasn’t any grand catastrophe or raucous mayhem, he’d just stay near-literally dead asleep on the floor.
> 
> This lasted well into the six hours Prowl had mentioned. Tarantulas had no idea the Constructicons had come in, no idea Prowl had repositioned his hand, and would also continue to be blissfully ignorant of anything around him unless the green morons decided to wake  _him_  up alongside Prowl when the time came.

Prowl

> They did not. The Constructicons roused themselves carefully, unconsciously aware of the dangerous gross thing on the floor they didn’t want to touch. They woke Prowl carefully, through mental nudges and a shoulder shake, and he activated his optics with a groan. “Already?” he mumbled. He’d been in the middle of dreaming of space bridging criminals directly into prison cells.
> 
> “Yup.” Bonecrusher sat up and stretched. Long Haul dragged a reluctant Mixmaster out from under the berth. “We’ll handle the talking for you today” “But you shouldn’t have stayed up so late.”
> 
> “I know.” He rubbed his optics, then tiredly looked down at Tarantulas. Still asleep. He hadn’t budged all night. He must have been exhausted…
> 
> Hook whapped the back of Prowl’s head. “Stop giving him that sappy look. Wake him up and kick him out.”
> 
> “No.” Prowl rubbed the back of his head. “He never sleeps this long. If he’s still recharging, then it’s because he needs to.”
> 
> “Ya don’t expect us to leave him here while we’re out. What’s he gonna do while we aren’t watching?”
> 
> “What would he be able to do that he couldn’t do just as easily by coming back while we’re out?”
> 
> Grumbles. But none of them had an answer.
> 
> They stood, they stretched. After a last glare at the unwelcome bug, the Constructicons headed downstairs to start pouring out energon rations, while Prowl went to his makeshift berth-desk to write a note.
> 
> He returned to lay a datapad on Tarantulas’s chest:
> 
> _At work. Sleep as long as you need. Don’t alter/add/subtract anything in/to/from our quarters or the immediate environs. Don’t even get within five feet of my desk._
> 
> Breakfast was quiet. Prowl stoically ignored the Constructicons’ periodic glowers toward the mezzanine.
> 
> Then a guard came to the door and they left.

Tarantulas

> Cut to four hours later - Tarantulas was only just starting to surface into consciousness, vaguely disoriented and with a bit of a headache. Where - why was he in Prowl’s apartment on the floor? Ah. Soundwave. Yes. Then that long tumultuous talk with Prowl and he fell off the berth and - yes. That made sense.
> 
> In the process of getting up, Tarantulas discovered the datapad on his chest. That  _also_ made sense. Prowl - Prowl had let him sleep in at his apartment - a warm gesture despite the prohibitions in the note. 
> 
> He didn’t do too much harmless wandering around, eventually deciding to hop back over to the Tor to settle in and drift back off to sleep. This was unprecedented - well, not  _really_ , he’d settled sleep deficits with more - but the general situation and needing probably three times the recharge he normally functioned on…?
> 
> Nevermind all that, he’d just deal with the moment and not fuss about details. He sank back into his hammock before sending Prowl a ping and a comm.
> 
> «My thanks for the note - the datapad’s on the floor,  _six_  feet away from your desk. And I’ve returned to my quarters now, so don’t panic and go searching your apartment for me when you get back, hyeh.»

Prowl

> Fifteen minutes of silence. Then Prowl all sends Tarantulas is an acknowledging ping.
> 
> Little bit too overworked to reply right now. But message received.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was already half-asleep by the time the ping came, startling him awake with a jerk. Ah, yes. Alright. Good. But… two minutes later, one could only guess which cozy spider was passed out again.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and Tarantulas test out new waters; said waters prove to be mercurial (i.e. par for the course).

Tarantulas

> At first it was uncomfortable - just going about his business as per usual and trying to ignore the fact that Prowl -  _Prowl_  - they were, well,  _something_. Tarantulas wasn’t being held at arm’s length anymore; he’d been given a green light. But Prowl hadn’t contacted him since they’d last parted, and time dragged on so terribly, terribly slowly…
> 
> Then Tarantulas realized it was probably the whole cleanup/construction business Prowl was drowning himself in. It didn’t make it  _easier_  to wait, but at least it made sense, and meant Prowl wasn’t forgetting or ignoring him.
> 
> Then it went back to being uncomfortable again. Tarantulas should probably be the one to contact  _Prowl_ , given the circumstances, right? What should he say? Hello? Come into it with some sort of topic in mind, or just wing it? Serious, casual, humorous? …Primus, he was  _so_  overthinking this. Just comm him already, Tarantulas.
> 
> Or ping him, for politeness’ sake. There.

Prowl

> Thank goodness—something to think about other than the fact that he was missing documentary night because Chromedome was there. Even Tarantulas was welcome right now.
> 
> He’d been drowning himself in work to try to avoid dwelling on Tarantulas. After the fatigued anxiety of the whole interrogation had worn off, he’d been hit with a heady rush of euphoria: they’d made it through. He could talk freely with Tarantulas again. He could sit in a room with him. He could  _touch_  him. He could—
> 
> It wasn’t a rational state of mind.
> 
> He knew they had to make real progress soon, he knew they had to set up rules and boundaries to keep this from turning out like it did last time. But doing it in the middle of a euphoric rush would have been a disaster. He’d had to wait, to regain objectivity. And he was tired and overworked and had a thousand other things that needed doing, so it was easy to force himself to put off comming Tarantulas. The rush faded with each hour, and Prowl got closer to equilibrium again.
> 
> But of course, of course Tarantulas wasn’t going to be patient. It was amazing he’d lasted this long without comming. Prowl replied immediately. «Yes?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas jerked back slightly in his seat - he had  _not_  expected to get that quick of a response, and it caught him totally off guard. Well, give him a second to pull himself together.
> 
> «Prowl! Are you free at the moment?»

Prowl

> «My schedule just opened up.» And he was very eager for something to fill it.

Tarantulas

> Scrap. Part of Tarantulas had been hoping for Prowl to delay the conversation, although he wasn’t sure why. Alright, time to jump in.
> 
> «Oh - I do hope that’s a  _good_  thing.» He figured Prowl might actually get antsy knowing he had so many other things to do, even if he was technically free. «Any chance I could stop by? Assuming you’re at the apartment.»

Prowl

> «It’s a thing.» In other words, no, not particularly good.
> 
> «I am. I’ll be upstairs.»

Tarantulas

> Hopefully Tarantulas could do something to help instead of making it worse. _Sometimes_  he managed not to screw things up.
> 
> That wasn’t exactly permission to come over, but eh, it was implied. In a pleased tone: «I’ll see you shortly then.»
> 
> And with that he promptly made his way over - but not  _too_  fast. In through the vents, out to the main mezzanine to regroup, then off to find Prowl. Apologies in advance for his unintentionally silent approach.

Prowl

> Prowl was at his makeshift desk, halfheartedly going over a datapad. He’ll look up when he notices Tarantulas is here, but between the silent approach and the attention deflectors, that might not be until Tarantulas makes his presence known.
> 
> The Constructicons were downstairs, and unusually quiet. They knew Tarantulas was coming over.

Tarantulas

> Since Prowl didn’t seem to notice his entry, Tarantulas took advantage of the opportunity to sneak up behind him and put a gentle claw on his shoulder, taking a look at the datapad in the process.
> 
> «What’s this, hmn? Or would you rather not talk about work? That, I’d certainly understand, hyeh.»

Prowl

> Prowl started at the touch and shielded the datapad against his chest—the instinctive reaction of somebody who’d spent far too much of his life with far too many secrets to keep. But when he realized who it was, he held out the datapad again, letting Tarantulas see: a news clip about the progress at the construction site, and, more importantly, the comments underneath. They were full of hatred, threats, and vitriol for Devastator, Prowl, and the Constructicons.
> 
> “I’d rather not talk about it, no.” He turned off the datapad.

Tarantulas

> It was so  _cute_  to see Prowl all surprised like that - Tarantulas wondered how often he could get away with startling him before it was labeled off-bounds.
> 
> A quick scan of the article told Tarantulas all he needed to know. Leaning forward, he placed his other claw on the opposite shoulder and nuzzled at the top of Prowl’s head. It was so incredibly  _lovely_  to be able to just touch him casually like this, but…
> 
> “Prowllll, why are you reading that? I’m sure it’s a bounteous source of information, but is it really information you need to know?”

Prowl

> He briefly tensed when Tarantulas settled his head on top of Prowl’s, but when Tarantulas stayed away from the back of Prowl’s head, he forced himself to relax.
> 
> “It is. One of the reasons we’re doing these repairs is to improve our standing with the general public. This is how I’m keeping track of public perception.” Not the only way, of course—but the most colorful.
> 
> A claw on each shoulder, nuzzles on his head, Tarantulas’s chest looming just behind his back… Almost a little too much touching, especially at an angle where he couldn’t watch. He’d endure it for now. It wasn’t unbearable.

Tarantulas

> Maybe Prowl couldn’t watch, but he could certainly feel - and to Tarantulas, that seemed more than sufficient. Besides, he wasn’t going anywhere, and the only movements he made were with his mandibles, which were nowhere near Prowl’s deflector shield.
> 
> “Maybe not the most morale-mustering way to go about it, but… Certainly something one would rather have a distraction from. Come, put it away.” Then, the awkward realization that Tarantulas didn’t know what else to say - what was he allowed to do? To talk about? To ask?

Prowl

> “What’s morale got to do with it?” Prowl lost his last scrap of morale during the Aequitas trials. Ever since then he’s been fueled by bitter resignation and hollow determination.
> 
> No, Prowl  _wouldn’t_  rather have a distraction—but he’d resigned himself to one when he let Tarantulas come over. He turned off the datapad and set it down in its place amidst the pseudo-chaotic mess of datapads on his desk. “Did you have something in mind?”

Tarantulas

> Nuzzle nuzzle. “Morale, motivation, mindset - all the same thing, and all important in not completely burning out while doing something you’re not too  _keen_ on doing.”
> 
> Tarantulas’s optics followed the datapad and scanned the desk admiringly. Yes it was messy, but he was 100% certain Prowl had a method to his madness. Just a tiny reminder of why he adored him so much… But then Prowl spoke, and uncomfortable reality set back in.
> 
> “No, hyah, not actually.” He gave a light pull on Prowl’s shoulders that slowly turned into a mini-massage. “I just - wanted to be  _here_. So your choice, then, unless you’re drawing a blank as well.”

Prowl

> “Not the same thing,” Prowl said. “I have plenty of motivation, and I haven’t had morale in millennia.”
> 
> Okay—okay, massaging was too much. Especially for someone he didn’t trust who was lurking behind his back. “Having a conversation with someone behind me is awkward. Could you…?” He gestured for Tarantulas to walk around the desk. “I don’t have anything specific to discuss yet.”  _Yet._  Suggesting there would be soon.

Tarantulas

> A low hum from Tarantulas. “Maybe that wasn’t the best analogy - motivation is defined in quantity, morale in quality, so they’re not comparable. But - I get the gist.
> 
> "Technically  _above,_  but yes.” Sorry Prowl, you’re not escaping Tarantulas’ touch just yet - he let go only to slide a claw down and pull at Prowl’s forearm. “But  _please,_  don’t have me sit across from you like this is a formal meeting. Unless it is? Which I doubt.”
> 
> Yes, Tarantulas did catch the “yet.” He didn’t exactly know what it meant, but knowing Prowl, it’d come up in its own time. For now, the focus was solely trying to coax Prowl over onto one of the couches.

Prowl

> He vaguely waved away the analogy. “I don’t need it, basically. It’s a luxury.”
> 
> A forearm pull was acceptable. It wasn’t the same as being loomed over from behind. “Fine, fine.” He’ll be led over. There was one long couch and one loveseat around a low table, with a lovely view out the tall, narrow window against the far wall from the mezzanine. Which wasn’t really visible at the moment, because it was dark outside and light inside, but still. Prowl sat on the couch.

Tarantulas

> “That sound  _awful_.” It was a painfully genuine sentiment - Tarantulas never did anything he didn’t want to do if he could help it.
> 
> Another moment of awkwardness as he had to decide how and how close he wanted to sit to Prowl. He ended up sitting half-curled with one leg pulled up, and slightly closer than socially acceptable, which roughly translated to “respectfully casual” in his book. No worries if you’re uncomfortable, Prowl; he’ll be up and down and moving around soon enough.
> 
> Slag. Now they had to decide what to talk about. Think of something, anything. Use that whirlwind of a brain module as a bingo cage and crank out a letter/number combination already. The topic of the conversation would be…
> 
> “…My optics.” As if suddenly self-conscious, his optics squinted a bit and contracted the visor as well. “Why… why did you want to see my optics that one time?”

Prowl

> Was it? “I have a duty to perform. I perform it.” Just like he always had before. Just like he always would.
> 
> Close but not touching was fine. Heck, he’d recently let Tarantulas drape all over him, hadn’t he? It was just  _certain_  touches that were unwelcome.
> 
> He was willing to wait for Tarantulas to think of a topic. Prowl’s comfortable with long silences, it wouldn’t even bother him if they didn’t talk at all…
> 
> Oh.
> 
> Well.
> 
> Prowl’s gaze flickered over to Tarantulas’s visor, briefly, and then back to the window. What a question. How did he even  _begin_  to answer that?  _After Chromedome tampered with my memories, he tried to convince me that he altered my recollections of the mechs I thought I’d loved and that I might not ever have loved them at all, so I wanted to check to see if it at least felt like it had been real._  There wasn’t a single part of that sentence that was safe to share. “… Classified?”

Tarantulas

> Of course he’d already known it’d be something sensitive, but it never hurt to ask outright in case a miracle happened. Leaning in a bit, Tarantulas shifted his squint to somewhere between curious and amused.
> 
> “You say that as if it’s a  _question_. Tell me then, why is it classified? I mean to say - hyeh. It has to do with Mesothulas, doesn’t it. Is it classified in a technical or personal manner, or… something else? Even if you don’t tell me the root, I’m still going to ask peripheral questions for my own reference. They’re  _my_  optics, anyhow. I figure I deserve to know if they mean something in particular to you.”

Prowl

> Prowl leaned away and continued to avert his gaze from Tarantulas’s face. Wonderful. Now he was stuck with questions. Memo to self: it’s dangerous to let Tarantulas choose the topic. “Both,” he said. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

Tarantulas

> Remember, Tarantulas  _did_ give  **you** the opportunity to choose instead, Prowl.
> 
> A moment of contemplation. “…I suppose we don’t have to  _discuss_. Most of it is really more of a practical matter.” Yes, that was absolutely why he’d asked in the first place. “Things such as - are you ever going to want to see them again? Or, do  _you_  have any questions? The instance just struck me as - odd. Intriguing. And you  _know_  how I can get, Prowl. Surely you can circumnavigably sate my curiosity one way or another.”

Prowl

> He’s regretting not taking it.
> 
> “This is discussing it,” Prowl said. “No, I don’t have any questions. And don’t feed me that rubbish, we both know that the more your curiosity is fed the more insatiable it gets.”
> 
> Quick, find a shinier topic to distract him with. “You said last time you wanted to see the blueprints of Metroplex.” Didn’t he? Something like that.

Tarantulas

> “That’s -” A defeated huff. “- insightfully and unfortunately true. But that doesn’t mean you oughtn’t feed me  _some_. There’s more than one form of starvation, you know, and then I’ll just get  _desperate_.” And no one,  _no_  one wants that.
> 
> Tarantulas considered the shiny for a moment, then tossed it away. “Yes, yes I did, but that’s quite obviously  _work_  material. In other words, off-limits.” Try again.

Prowl

> “That’s  _your_  problem, Tarantulas. I’m under no obligation to fulfill your need for stimulation.” As annoying as Tarantulas would be without it.
> 
> “When have you ever been averse to seeing any of my work materials? That’s my life you’re saying is off-limits.” Don’t split Prowl’s life into work and not-work. He doesn’t. It’s an artificial division.

Tarantulas

> “…Actually,  _yes_ , yes you are. Socially-speaking, at least. But that argument would hardly convince you, so don’t worry about it.” He’ll still manage to wring his stimulation quota out of Prowl one way or another, with or without assistance.
> 
> “ _Hyeheh_ , that’s also true - but you’re the one who said you’re averse to talking about work, I’m merely enforcing your wishes. I…  _might_ be persuaded to break a few rules in this case, though.” Tarantulas was starting to fidget a bit - a good sign of him warming up to the idea. “You’re not going to just  _give_  the blueprints to me, are you?” 

Prowl

> “No. Fulfilling your needs is not my obligation, social or otherwise.” Then Tarantulas is just stimulating himself in Prowl’s vicinity.
> 
> “I meant I don’t want to talk about that datapad. Plus, I don’t want to discuss how the act of working is going. I’m not as averse to things peripheral to it.” Especially when the alternative is talking about Tarantulas’s optics.
> 
> He got to his feet. “As opposed to what? Burying them in the Rust Sea and handing you a treasure map?” He headed back to the berth-desk.

Tarantulas

> A knowing sigh. “See, I  _told_  you.”
> 
> Tarantulas could vaguely tell he was being diverted off an unwanted topic, but it didn’t bother him. He’d go ahead and take the bait, then. “…I’m - well, not used to you simply  _giving_ me things. You’ve been hiding facts and dangling data just out of my reach for the entire time I’ve  _known_  you - why should I expect you to stop now? Hyeh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but it’s  _new_ , you see.”
> 
> In a sparkbeat he was up and shadowing Prowl to the berth. It was probably just a single datapad Prowl needed to retrieve, but Tarantulas would rather be mobile and follow him than sit back and wait - Primus forbid.

Prowl

> “You said I wouldn’t be persuaded by a social obligation. I  _would_  be, but it  _isn’t_  a social obligation.”
> 
> Really? The desk was a few feet away, Tarantulas couldn’t wait that long for him to get the datapad. “Yes, well, I had grave concerns about whether or not you might be working for somebody who wants to eat the universe, didn’t I? I don’t now. I’m not going to give you  _everything_ , of course, but I no longer have to give you  _nothing_.”
> 
> He picked up one of the many datapads and started scrolling through it, looking for the relevant pages. “Naturally, I don’t have the  _full_  blueprints of Metroplex—just the anatomy of several buildings. But you know about anatomy, you can probably extrapolate more about how he functions from the blueprints than I can.”

Tarantulas

> OK, so Prowl wouldn’t let it go - that gave Tarantulas permission to verbally assault him, right? “Yes, it  _is_. Society itself is built upon the premise that people need each other to survive, and it isn’t solely about hunting and gathering, it’s about expanded interpersonal interactions as well. More intelligent beings need more mental stimulation - and they derive that from their relationships. It’s an implicit mutual agreement that, upon entering a social relationship with another being, you’re obligated to provide them with engaging stimulus. I’d even go so far as to say that relationships themselves are defined by the amount and type of stimulus provided. It’s fundamental to it all, no?”
> 
> Tarantulas had continued talking as he came over and flanked Prowl at the desk, pausing briefly to address the actual subject at hand. “I’m still  _upset_  about that, by the by. But - yes, I can certainly attempt to. How many is ‘several’? Do you have them mapped onto the main body? Root or alt?”

Prowl

> “Society is built upon interactions, but individuals have autonomy and boundaries. Participating in society does not obligate any one given person to fulfill any other given person’s needs. By demanding that I, personally, fulfill your needs, you are proposing an exploitative and coercive social dynamic, where my comfort and boundaries are ranked as negligible the moment you decide you need something from me. Nobody is obligated to that, and I reject this dynamic.”
> 
> Prowl nodded. “I know.” Tarantulas should be upset. “Three buildings.” He handed over the datapad—currently, it was displaying the building Prowl himself was living in. Tarantulas had probably mapped the whole thing himself by now anyway. The blueprints had been added onto extensively by the Constructicons, with notes about pre-Golden Age architecture and comments from Hook on how the building probably wired into Metroplex’s energon, spark, and nervous systems. “The question of what’s the root and what’s the alt is complicated in Metrotitans, who spend most of their lives in city or ship mode; but the maps I have are, obviously, for city mode. As far as I can find out, nobody has full blueprints for Metroplex’s entire body.” Maybe Alpha Trion. But he wasn’t here. And his request to the Cityspeaker might have been rejected because of who he was, not because the information wasn’t available. But, that didn’t matter.

Tarantulas

> “I’m not suggesting that providing stimulus is  _tantamount_  - comfort and boundaries ought to be taken into account, naturally. But that doesn’t mean you’re not committing yourself to providing stimulus  _somehow_ ,  _sometime_. What else would you call a relationship? How would you define it other than an exchange between two conscious stimuli?” A moment of gazing off with narrowed optics, then he added: “…I think you might be misinterpreting my use of ‘obligated.’ I’m implying obligation inherent in the definition of what a relationship  _is_ , not coerced obligation.”
> 
> Quiet humming as he took and looked over the datapad. “Ah, fair enough. City mode, then. …Just  _three_?” He sounded disappointed. Some muttering about Hook’s comments -  _of course, but not like that - no, it wouldn’t connect - although, hmn, true_. Eventually he turned his attention back to Prowl, the blueprints still swimming in his head, until another thought popped in. “Oh - no, Metroplex himself has his own blueprints, of course. That’s an option.” He wasn’t yet aware Prowl had asked for them.

Prowl

> “I’d call it the interactions between two or more people.” Let’s go with a literal definition. “Just a couple of minutes ago, you attempted to coerce me into feeding your curiosity by claiming it was my social obligation to you. You can’t say it’s not coerced obligation.”
> 
> Prowl leaned against the desk and waited, watching Tarantulas’s face out of the corner of his optic as he examined the blueprint. Even just watching him think was… was…
> 
> Familiar. Let’s go with familiar.
> 
> “If he has them, he’s not able to provide them.” Or his translator wasn’t willing to share them. “I already checked. This is the best we have.” He picked up another datapad, much larger, and turned it on. “We only had partial blueprints for the structure we’re rebuilding right now. I’m trying to use them and the information we’ve gleaned from other buildings to reverse-engineer the destroyed building. It’s not going well.”
> 
> It was easy to follow the rules—mechanically tracing the arrangements of rooms, modifying them just enough to fit in a structure with different dimensions—but his every effort was riddled with Constructicon critique, everything from “the plumbing would always flood like this” to “the anthropometry’s all off.” At least they’d stopped communicating in frowny faces.

Tarantulas

> A chiding chitter. “I can. I  _encouraged_  you to participate in feeding my curiosity for the sake of fulfilling part of the ‘someday, sometime’ requirement. Coerce is such a  _strong_  word.”
> 
> More scrolling, tapping, and zooming in on the datapad. “You never know, we might be able to find a way to snag the schematics from him.” Tarantulas had some ideas, but probably not ones Prowl would approve of.
> 
> Handing off the smaller datapad to one of his spindly spider limbs, Tarantulas preemptively took possession of the larger one now, poking his way through the new data. “…Hmmn. Overlaying other layouts might not be the only way to visualize it. Think big picture. Form follows function. Think about what might have made this building  _different_  from the others and work around that - and don’t worry about the plumbing, it’ll work itself out once you find the right configuration. Take errors like that as a sign to reverse a step, and then… yes…”
> 
> Somehow Tarantulas had already navigated and copied the other building layouts into a new file, switching and deleting things in fits and starts. Finally he singled out a room and gestured toward it, as if that solved everything.
> 
> “Oh - am I allowed to  _keep_  the blueprints somehow?” An unspoken ‘ _please_.’

Prowl

> “Coerced is a very strong word, and it’s the exact word I meant to use.”
> 
> His hands followed after the larger datapad. “Don't— don’t change…” Okay, Tarantulas had opened a new file. He wasn’t messing with Prowl’s. Good.
> 
> Prowl shook his head, “That’s all, just—generic advice. It doesn’t get at the specifics of how to make the layout work. ‘Form follows function,’ ‘think about why this building is different,’ none of that means anything by itself. And no, plumbing doesn’t work itself out, you have to plan for the plumbing as you’re designing the space. Bonecrusher made that very clear.”
> 
> What about the room? What was the room supposed to do? “I’ll give you copies of the three buildings. You’re not getting the one I’m working on. It isn’t done.”

Tarantulas

> “Well then, you’re patently wrong. I was  _coaxing_ , at most.”
> 
> For a while Tarantulas was distracted again, then came back to Prowl. “I was - preoccupied, and generic advice is a good place to start… on occasion. Top down. You have to change your mindset, otherwise you won’t find things like  _this_.” Again he gestured toward the room. “The building was organized around the third story, room 335. The others were focused on the main lobby and an immovable engineering console on the north side. You can cross-reference layouts, but see? Differences first. Then re-creation.”
> 
> A glance back. “ _Hyeh_  - Bonecrusher can think what he likes. Plan while you’re going, sure, but don’t overly fret - it’s not a matter of  _you_  doing the planning really - Metroplex’s design existed before Devastator came along, so if you get the rooms right, the plumbing should fall into place too. But - I still wouldn’t mind hearing Bonecrusher’s thoughts, it might help inform Hook’s work on sussing out the circulatory and sensory systems.”
> 
> Then an eager squint of his visor. “That’s more than enough, I can work with them and compare. How might you…?” And he trailed off. What  _would_  be best? Or rather, what would Prowl think of first, given that his universe had obviously different levels of data etiquette?

Prowl

> “I know what I heard.” But there was always, always the nagging feeling that he was wrong—just because he was blind to things that were plainly visible to everyone else. He’d have to ask for a second opinion from someone else later.
> 
> Prowl gave Tarantulas a skeptical look. It steadily increased. “Considering that Bonecrusher’s spent around five million years building things, including plumbing, I’m going to assume he knows what he’s talking about.  _If_  we were able to determine the full layout of the lost building, then yes, of course everything would fall into place. But we don’t have that and as of yet I haven’t figured out how to reverse-engineer the design from what we do know. Taking cues from other buildings is the best we can do.” If only he hadn’t had the larger rubble hauled away from the site before he could investigate it. Stupid, stupid.
> 
> He shook his head emphatically. “No, you’re  _not_  working on this. Absolutely not. I showed you Metroplex’s blueprints because I thought you might find it interesting, not because I’m recruiting you to help.”

Tarantulas

> “…As I said, my argument clearly hasn’t convinced you, so I don’t know  _why_  you even bothered asking after my thoughts in the first place.”
> 
> See, that’s what Tarantulas is all about - manipulating with intent to blur lines and mask mistakes. You might be able to catch him on technicalities, but the majority of his work is passable as socially acceptable even though it  _feels_ off.
> 
> A huff. “Well apparently Bonecrusher doesn’t know  _everything_ , given you’re still  _stuck_. I may not be a seasoned construction worker myself, but bringing in a new set of optics might help make sense of it all - and as you said, I’m knowledgeable in anatomy, I’m not completely helpless. Which is why  _this_ -” A tap and drag. “- goes  _here_ , and  _these_ -” More touches, a few lines. “- are like  _this_.” It was only a small bit of progress he’d made, but it was at least something, and it seemed mostly plausible.
> 
> “And  **that’s** why you should let me help. I won’t interfere in anything else - it’s a  _puzzle_ , Prowl, one-of-a-kind - I just want to  _play_  with it, maybe even solve it. You can’t just show me bits of Metroplex and expect me to do  _nothing_  with them.”

Prowl

> “I  _didn’t_  ask after your thoughts. I told you that I’m not obligated to fulfill your need for stimulation, and instead of accepting that you started arguing that I was. You’re acting like I’m being unreasonable for not accepting your arguments, when what I am doing is asserting a perfectly reasonable boundary and explaining to you why I’m not obligated to lower it just because you want me to. You know what you’re doing. Cut it out.”
> 
> No, no, that’s enough editing. Prowl reached over to try to take the datapad back. “I’m still stuck because I’m doing it myself. If I’d handed it over to the Constructicons, they would have finished weeks ago. I’m learning how to do it, and they’re teaching me what I’m doing wrong as I make mistakes. I won’t learn anything if you do my homework for me.”

Tarantulas

> “No, I’m -” The tiny scrapes of Tarantulas’ plating puffing indignantly, and a lowkey glare at Prowl. “I’m just saying you’re - you kept  _prodding_. And I defended myself. I’d much rather  _not’ve_  - obviously we differ in opinion - and I knew you’d likely misconstrue me. Which you  _did_. So.”
> 
> Prowl got a bit of resistance when he tried to take the datapad, but ultimately Tarantulas gave it up. Tension was already starting to ramp up? Unbelievable, and suddenly nerve-wracking. He had to pacify Prowl. Don’t argue even though you  _really_  want to - just smooth down your plating, simmer down, and work on getting what you want later. Forget about how empty your claws feel now and try to play nice.
> 
> “I didn’t - I  _forgot_ you were driving solo. But if you’re - why don’t they just collaborate with you, at the very least? Throwing you in the deep end like this -  _alone_  - and merely pointing out your mistakes? That’s hardly an effective learning strategy. And Primus forbid, if you’re doing this to  _yourself_  -” A sadly disappointed visor. 

Prowl

> “I didn’t prod. I stated my position. You argued against it. I defended my position. Had I stopped at any point, you could have used that to argue that I had implicitly conceded that I  _am_  obligated to manage your boredom for you.”
> 
> He took the datapad, reverted the file to his last version, and turned it off. “They didn’t throw me. I jumped. If the blueprints aren’t ready by the time we start reconstruction, I’m handing it over to them. But I’m going to do this myself.”

Tarantulas

> “I  _wouldn’t_  have. I would’ve let the matter rest. It’s - it’s too trivial to get worked up about like this.” Tarantulas tried not to seem too exasperated as he rubbed at his visor’s edge with a claw.
> 
> Meh, he could reproduce the work if he wanted. But - damnit, really? He redirected his growing restlessness into claw gestures as he spoke. “ _Why_? Why force yourself to suffer when you  _know_  there are a million better ways to do this? It doesn’t make any  _sense_. You’re  _smarter_  than this, Prowl.”

Prowl

> “I find that hard to believe, since you didn’t let the matter rest the first time I said I wasn’t obligated.”
> 
> Since when has Prowl worried about his own suffering? “The best way to learn is by doing. I consult my research and textbooks,” he gestured at the many datapads strewn across the desk, “I do my best based on that, I get critique and correction, I do better next time. What ‘better’ method do you propose?”

Tarantulas

> “I merely - I don’t remember  _exactly_  - but I wanted to briefly articulate myself. It’s not…” A beleaguered sigh. “It’s best just to forget about it. Nevermind.
> 
> “You can  _work **with** other people_. Why do you think I worked with  _you_ \- er, him - for so long, like that? Inspiration, learning, efficiency, things like that, they’re all facilitated by the assistance of other minds, no matter how capable you are on your own. I’m not saying you won’t  _eventually_  get where you want right now, but with the negative feedback and repetitive references to texts, it  _has_  to be incredibly slow and such a hassle. You’re not learning by doing - you’re hardly doing! You’re getting slaps on the wristplate. If you’d just work as a  _team_  - in coordination. And if not with them - I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting that - at least allow  _me_. Utilizing our symmetric differences would be far more productive than you floundering alone, and you wouldn’t  _lose_  on learning, you’d  **gain**.”
> 
> So much for not getting worked up again. At least it was exasperated instead of accusatory, but… still.

Prowl

> Good—Tarantulas was finally dropping it, Prowl could too.
> 
> “Do you want to frame our association as learning experience? Because, if so, then on a superficial level it’s the same as my current arrangement with the Constructicons. I wasn’t teaching you anything. You already knew things—I provided you with ideas for what to do with the things you knew, and the materials you needed to do them. Anything new you learned, you learned by yourself, either by experimenting or by doing your own research. And then I critiqued it, and you refined your work based on those critiques.”
> 
> At Tarantulas’s suggestion that Prowl come to  _him_  for educating, he pulled his datapad closer to his chest. “You do not know more about construction than Constructicons,” he said. “I’m not studying with you. This is how architects learn—professional ones. They study, they draw blueprints, they get critiqued, they draw more blueprints, they get better.”

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas had been  _trying_  to drop it, but apparently it stuck this time.
> 
> “It’s not -” Dang. Prowl was right. Although, heh, that didn’t mean Tarantulas couldn’t lie. “I  _did_  teach you things, it was just in a much less pressured environment, and you taught me things in return as well. Well - at least in my universe, I can’t speak for yours. And my teaching style is nothing like this, suffice to say.
> 
> “I wasn’t claiming to know more! I was simply offering my services either supplementarily or outside of theirs, should you choose not to actually  _collaborate_  with them instead of this whole trial and error business. But - is that what you want…? To become an architect?” The idea hadn’t occurred to Tarantulas - he figured Prowl was doing this out of duty.

Prowl

> “I might have accidentally learned things, but it was hardly formal instruction.”
> 
> He shook his head. “ _No._  Not in the slightest. I hate everything about the idea. But as long as I have to do it, I’m going to do it  _properly._ ”

Tarantulas

> “That’s why the analogy fell flat. But even then, I wasn’t even referring to formal instruction - it’s more like -  _mutual experiential_ instruction.” Scrap. Tarantulas hoped that didn’t come out wrong. This wasn’t the time for accidental innuendo.
> 
> Ah, yes, that sounded more like Prowl. “That makes sense. It’s just, there’s no one way to do something  _properly_ \- it’s just what’s most expeditious and/or least awful, depending on your priorities, that is. Honestly your current route sounds like neither of those. That’s - that’s really all I mean.”

Prowl

> A sideways glance. A long moment of silence. And then, “And here I’d thought you and my alternate never engaged in that sort of thing.” Said very coolly and casually.
> 
> “There’s no  _one_  way to do it properly, no—but there is always an  _optimum_  way. Given my current circumstances, I believe this is the most expeditious way to do it without cutting corners on the education itself.”

Tarantulas

> An awkward flinch under Prowl’s gaze. “That’s -  _not_ \- not what I meant. You  _know_  that.” Geez, that’d thrown him for a loop. Surprise sexual tension during an already-different-kind-of-tense argument? Yeesh. At least he had the sense this time not to try to explain himself and fumble around making it even worse.
> 
> Tarantulas’ visor briefly narrowed, then relaxed. “I - disagree with you, but it’s  _your_  education, I suppose. I’m glad at least that you’re intent on not ‘cutting corners’ on an architecture and construction education, of all things.” Heh. It’s a pun, Prowl. See? He’s trying to lighten the mood a little.
> 
> “…Will you still transfer the Metroplex files to me?” Hopeful puppy-dog visor.

Prowl

> “Hm. … Pity.” All right. Enough very-cool-and-casual teasing. Moving on. See? He’s trying to lighten the mood too.
> 
> “Of course I’m not. Just think of the potential consequences. An error could cause catastrophic structural failures—not only potentially bringing the building down, but also risking greater harm to Metroplex should he transform and a part not be in the right place.” But sadly, Tarantulas’s effort to lighten the mood flew straight over Prowl’s head. He took it quite literally.
> 
> A surprised look. “Yes, of course. I said I would, didn’t I?”

Tarantulas

> Way to make Tarantulas squirm a little more, Prowl. “Yes -  _pity_.” Tarantulas gave himself a mental high five for actually responding in a  _somewhat_  cool-and-casual manner. Somewhat.
> 
> That’s alright, Tarantulas’ll take him up on the literal implications if he wants. “I’m not concerned about that in the least, Prowl - it’s as I said before, you’re not one to do anything half-sparkedly, and you’ve got plenty of intelligence to put to the task, no matter  _how_ you go about it.” That puppy-dog visor had shifted to mildly-adoring now, of course.
> 
> A tiny relieved exvent. “I - wasn’t sure, given you seemed so against - well. It’s obviously of no concern now. Again, new territory.”
> 
> And with that, Tarantulas started shifting again, one moment getting a better look at Prowl’s berth-desk, then other moment glancing back at the couch. Simply standing here like this was… uncomfortable.

Prowl

> A slight nod. “I just have to catch up before I  _need_  to know all of this.” No pressure.
> 
> “I don’t want you to help me. But that wasn’t why I was showing you the blueprints in the first place.”
> 
> That’s why you should do what Prowl does and lean against the berth-desk, Tarantulas. But okay, when somebody starts shifting and glancing around, Prowl can tell that means discomfort. He gestured at the couch again. “Should we…?”

Tarantulas

> “I received the ‘vehement no’ loud and clear,” Tarantulas replied, a bit wryly. He obviously wasn’t happy about it but wouldn’t push the subject any more. Maybe he’d ask after it another time when Prowl was more stressed, distressed, and direly in need of help. “But yes, I do appreciate it, hyeh. There’s plenty I can learn from the blueprints without trying to solve your problems, I’m sure.”
> 
> Nope, no leaning. It didn’t leave any room to wiggle around. Gratefully: “Yes, we should - unless there’s anything else here…?”

Prowl

> “Good. I was shooting for vehement.” He wished he didn’t have to.
> 
> He headed back toward the couch. “No, nothing.” Not for now, anyway—maybe something would come up later, he didn’t know. He sat again, and waited for Tarantulas to join him.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas lingered near the desk a little longer than needed, still curious if there was anything there he could spy on or ask about, but alas, nothing. Besides, he didn’t want to irritate Prowl more by hovering around a desk he was previously told to stay five feet away from.
> 
> Then back to the couch it was. Same spot, same casual half-curl. “Let’s pick a less… fraught topic this time, please.” A little ‘heh’ and a small stretch over into Prowl’s personal space…
> 
> Although, well, he supposed he should ask first before he sprawled. “…What am I allowed in terms of physical closeness? At least - at the moment. You’re allowed to change your mind at any time, naturally.” Hopefully in the 'more’ direction.

Prowl

> Better to minimize lingering; Prowl was watching the whole time.
> 
> “How?” Prowl asked wryly. “I had no way to know that you would jump from an offer of blueprints to trying to tutor me.”
> 
> Tarantulas was asking permission. Was he learning better manners, or was he trying to get Prowl to lower his guard? “Physical contact is okay.”

Tarantulas

> “I wasn’t  _trying_  to -  **no** , no, we’re not getting into that again.” A little rub of his forehead. Good choice, Tarantulas.
> 
> As far as manners vs. machinations? A little bit of both, since he was trying to do what he thought Prowl would  _want_  him to do.
> 
> A pleased churr, and Tarantulas stretched over further - momentarily there was a mess of limbs in Prowl’s face before Tarantulas organized them all properly, stretching them mostly above his own head and lazily off the side of the couch. The resulting lap full of spider probably wasn’t what Prowl meant by ‘physical contact,’ but that’s what he got.
> 
> If Prowl wasn’t saying anything, Tarantulas was temporarily content to dim his visor and revel in the new closeness. N-Prowl - native Prowl -  _rarely_  allowed this sort of contact.

Prowl

> “Whatever you were trying to do. The point is—we’re bad at determining which topics are fraught. We’d better keep our standards low for the time being.”
> 
> No, actually, a lap full of spider was exactly what Prowl expected. He rested a hand on Tarantulas’s back, in the middle of all his legs.
> 
> For the life of him, though, he couldn’t think of a topic to discuss. Everything he thought of was potentially dangerous, or not something he wanted to discuss yet, or else entirely outside both their interests. Maybe silence? Was silence a viable topic of conversation?  _Prowl_  thought so, but he wasn’t sure Tarantulas would agree. He’d try it out and see how it went over.
> 
> Having Tarantulas in his lap—finally,  _finally_ —was more soothing than any conversation could be, anyway.

Tarantulas

> A general noise of agreement for keeping standards low. Tarantulas was busy focusing on the feeling of Prowl’s legs underneath his chest and the hand on his back - that was more important than forming actual words. Maybe he could prompt Prowl to move his hand a little, maybe explore his back kibble some? Tarantulas wiggled the base joints of his spider limbs to call attention to the area.  _Pet meeee_.
> 
> As for the silence? That lasted barely thirty seconds before Tarantulas grasped at some passing thought.
> 
> “…Why are you  _green_? I’m - heh. Surprised I hadn’t already asked.”

Prowl

> Ah, yes, those. Prowl had been exploring them last time before they got distracted, hadn’t he? He lifted his hand to start running his fingers around the bases of Tarantulas’s legs.
> 
> “Undercover mission, several months ago,” Prowl said. “My frame’s common enough that I don’t have to change it to disguise myself—just change my paint.”

Tarantulas

> _Yes_. Good. Tarantulas melted into the touch, his main body going slack and heavy on Prowl’s lap while the spider limbs occasionally stretched and twitched. It was a unique sensation whenever Prowl’s fingers touched the seams and overlaps between organic tissue and metal - something he couldn’t really describe to anyone, simply because they literally had no basis for comparison. It was just -  _good_. The rest of the petting was wonderful as well, but it’d be clear what Tarantulas preferred depending on what Prowl tried.
> 
> “Is there any reason you’ve  _kept_  it this shade?” Tarantulas let an arm dangle down the side of the couch alongside Prowl’s leg and stroked the green paint in tiny motions. “It can’t be much of a disguise here on Cybertron, can it?”

Prowl

> Unless he’s making an effort, Prowl’s not very adventurous. He’s figured out One (1) Place where Tarantulas likes to be touched, and he sees no reason to venture beyond that.
> 
> “After the mission, I knew I’d be returning to Cybertron soon, and would reunite with the Constructicons. At that point they would have been locked up for almost a year with no contact from me, and would thus have every reason to believe I had deliberately abandoned them. Before we were separated, they’d wanted me to repaint to match them, so it seemed convenient to remain in my temporary paint and let their first impression of me be that I was… eager to rejoin them, or whatever.” A vague hand wave—whatever. “They didn’t step on me, so it worked. I haven’t had an opportunity to repaint since.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t complaining - the One (1) Place petting was more than he was generally granted, and he’d gladly take whatever Prowl offered. Well, until he got restless and greedy and started grabbing for more, but for now he was purring silently in satisfaction.
> 
> “Hmm… you do want to repaint, then?” More soft, tiny strokes on Prowl’s leg armor. “That’s something I could assist with, assuming it’d be permitted. Or at least supplying paint if nothing else. I  _would_  like to note that I  _did_  make all my frame adjustments on my own.” And his paint job was flawless, right. Hint hint.
> 
> Some thought before he added: “I’m… let me see if I can articulate this… it occurs to me that I don’t have a concept of, of…”  _Oh_. Oh. Wow. Hold on, that might be a bigger topic than they wanted at the moment. “…It can wait, actually. Unless you have the, ah. Time and energy for what I’m absolutely  _certain_ would be a lengthy, in-depth discussion - and of course, it’d also be reliant on whether or not you’d be, err, amenable in the first place.”

Prowl

> “Not an option. Right now, as far as the public is concerned, I’m a horrific terrorist who has been arrested and is now working off his crimes. Locked-up terrorists who have been sentenced to heavy labor don’t have the luxury of getting fresh new paint jobs. There would be outrage.”
> 
> Tarantulas received a long, skeptical look. “… Tell me the proposed topic.”

Tarantulas

> A disappointed noise. “Fair enough. Though - that doesn’t necessarily answer my question.” Something Tarantulas figured was reasonable to clarify.
> 
> Ahhhh geez. Alright. Tarantulas turned slightly sideways so he could actually get a glimpse of Prowl’s face, just in time to catch the tail end of the skeptical look. “I know… things. Facts. I know  _about_  you, but I can’t say I know…  _you_. Your - what you  _want_. What you’re actually motivated by. Your goals. Things like - you don’t want to be an architect, then, but what  _do_  you want to  _be_? Or…” Some silent laughter, slightly shaking in Prowl’s lap. “Primus, but it’s not nearly that simple, what I want to ask. It’s a clouded mixture of past motivating present directed toward future, and you’re - well. Hyeh. It’s hardly a topic one could quickly gloss over. Or - topics, plural. And besides, I’ll have  _far_ too many questions - a veritably indomitable  _hydra_ of them. You know.”
> 
> Now that Tarantulas was finally cleared - whatever that may or may not mean - he wanted to  _know_. He wanted to learn more about Prowl. No - no. Not  _about_. He wanted to  **learn** Prowl - just, come to know Prowl, like he’d said. He might know -  _have_  known - his own N-Prowl, but more and more he was discovering that didn’t mean he knew  _this_  Prowl in the  _least_. And that? That was something he was painfully intent upon rectifying, now that he’d realized what he lacked.

Prowl

> “Yes, of course I want to be repainted. But you can’t help with that, because I can’t do it. Not as long as Iacon thinks I’m supposed to be in a position where I can’t get repainted.”
> 
> Prowl snorted. “You’re trying to ask me who I am. That’s a question most people spend their entire lives trying to answer for themselves, much less trying to come up with an answer for other people. Jumping in the deep end, are we?”

Tarantulas

> An acknowledging hum. Good. Personally Tarantulas liked the white better - a more pleasing color palette. Maybe… maybe with some kalish accents, heh.
> 
> A sheepish, amused noise. “I - suppose I  _am_ , aren’t I. But I want to  _know_ , Prowl, I want to know so badly. I haven’t - haven’t had the chance to. You could choose a  _little bit_. Just a snippet to share. Or - I could ask something, I don’t know.”

Prowl

> “That’s not a question that can be answered in one conversation.”
> 
> Would that it could be. But it wasn’t the kind of question that could best be answered in conversations in the first place. Self-reports of one’s own identity were always wrong, always skewed by what one thought about oneself. Who one  _was_  was what one  _did_ ; the only accurate way to discover someone else’s identity was by observing it.
> 
> “I’m a cop,” he said. “A mechaforensic investigator. That’s all I want to be.” See, and even Prowl was lying—he knew he was lying. He wasn’t describing who he  _is,_  he was describing who he  _had been._  Who he used to be, a long time ago. Maybe  _that_  was his [ideal self](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/154022886674/what-is-your-ideal-self-what-does-it-mean-to-be).
> 
> In any case, he wasn’t going to ask Tarantulas the same question. He knew the answer might not mean anything. It was better to observe and find out for himself.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas knew he wouldn’t get anywhere near a full picture of Prowl from his own self-description, no matter how lengthy a discussion or how deep they tried to dig. However, self-description was still important in revealing self-image, which was a major part of overall self in the first place. A piece was still part of a whole, no matter how small.
> 
> “But… you’re  _not_  a cop. Or are you implying that’s what you are at spark? That, I could understand, I think.” In the same way that, even if he weren’t researching or developing, Tarantulas would still consider himself a scientist. 
> 
> He wasn’t about to answer for himself though - this was about Prowl at the moment. “Can I ask -  _why_?”

Prowl

> “At spark,” Prowl confirmed, ignoring the sting of being told he was  _not._  It was tiny. It was easy to push away.
> 
> _Why_  was a harder question to answer. He looked at the ceiling for a moment, thinking… and then shook his head. “That’s like asking ‘why are you a Cybertronian,’” he said. “I could give a long, convoluted answer, but it would be a waste of time and not reveal anything of deeper significance. I just am.”

Tarantulas

> “I see.” Some slight purring if Prowl was still petting at him, and Tarantulas settled his head in more comfortably. “I’d really  _like_  for you to give a long convoluted answer if you could, not only because I enjoy listening to the sound of your vocals -” A highly transparent jest. “- but also because it - well. It tells me a lot about you just by itself. But if you’re not willing, I won’t insist.”
> 
> The blind petting on Prowl’s leg turned into adventuring near and around Prowl’s wheel well. Was he ticklish there? N-Prowl had been - though Tarantulas never got to take advantage of that fact.

Prowl

> Still petting. It’s more of a mechanical act now, but at least that means he isn’t about to stop.
> 
> “Mm… no. The effort to explain it would be far greater than the reward is worth. If you want to hear my vocals so badly, we could put them to better use than that.”
> 
> Since Prowl’s lower tires turns ninety degrees in robot mode, his wheel wells are more exposed, so they should be easy to access. But sorry, Tarantulas; C-Prowl isn’t ticklish anywhere.

Tarantulas

> Mechanical is plenty fine - if anything it’s preferable, since it’s less distracting from conversation.
> 
> “Hyeh - what would  _you_  suggest? …I’m afraid I’m not going to ask you to recite pi for me again, I’m not in need of calming exactly.” That  _had_  been helpful though.
> 
> Aww, no physical response? Alright… but Tarantulas was still going to play around with the curves absentmindedly anyway.

Prowl

> “Hm.” He slid down a little in his seat. Not enough to disturb Tarantulas’s perch, of course. “I also know many other irrational numbers.” Not a sincere offer. He’s joking.
> 
> Absentmindedly play away. Meanwhile, Prowl’s other hand has wandered onto Tarantulas’s fuzzy shoulder. This one isn’t for Tarantulas’s benefit. Prowl just wanted to feel it. He’s still getting used to the odd texture.
> 
> Briefly, his thoughts flash back to being locked up in Starscream’s dungeon, half panicked, pressed against Tarantulas’s chest, grasping and letting go— _Don’t do that again. Never do that again_. His fingers curled into Tarantulas’s fuzz as he pushed the memory away.

Tarantulas

> “I’m sure. Likely the only irrational thing about you,” Tarantulas added affectionately. “Hmm…  I’d say… possibly, something intellectual, but I’m a little burnt out on that at the moment. How about…” 
> 
> Oh? His shoulder? Tarantulas was reminded how strange and interesting the sensory experience must be for Prowl, with the countless thin hairs and distinctly organic texture. Briefly he fluffed his fur, burying Prowl’s fingers in the soft mess as they curled. “How does that feel, to you…? Your sensory perception is different than mine, no doubt, even from before my frame change.”

Prowl

> Prowl snorted. That wasn’t true. “I try.”  _That_  was.
> 
> It got taller. Prowl spread out his fingers and combed them through the fur. “What do you mean?” he asked. “It feels like fur.” What else was Tarantulas looking for? Temperature? Difficulty to comb through? Poetry?

Tarantulas

> “True enough. You  _did_  say you  _choose_  to act rationally before, correct?”
> 
> Nono, Tarantulas wasn’t looking for temperature or poetry - probably somewhere in the middle. “But what does  **fur**   _feel_  like. Can you feel the hairs separately? Do they process together as well? I can’t feel them getting caught in your joints, so I’m guessing that’s not a factor, but… things like that. How does your processor - well…” Some vague mumbling. “You wouldn’t have any basis for comparison, would you… and I suppose I’m asking too large of a question again, nevermind.” A weak ‘hyeh.’
> 
> Theoretically he knew his question could be answered by hardlining and hitching a ride on Prowl’s sensory processing, but that obviously wasn’t an option, so he wouldn’t mention it.
> 
> “Maybe I should restrict myself to asking trivial things instead, hyeh. Like -  _hobbies_  or the like, although… I promise I’m not trying to insult by saying this, but do you  _have_  any?”

Prowl

> “I did, yes.”
> 
> Prowl frowned thoughtfully, running his fingers more slowly through the fur, trying to figure out how to explain it—and what to explain. Several more slow strokes—and then he decided to just answer the question Tarantulas had asked. “Yes,” he said. “I feel them all separately. I don’t know what you mean, ‘process together.’”
> 
> A snort. “Of course I have hobbies.” Did Tarantulas honestly not know that? Had Prowl’s alternate never shown him anything outside of pure work? Had Tarantulas not picked up that Prowl had hobbies on his own? He’d added to Prowl’s magnet collection without knowing Prowl collects magnets? Half joking, he replied, “Do  _you?_ ”

Tarantulas

> “Somewhat like - like crowd dynamics. That’s the closest approximation I can give of how I  _receive_  the information.” It’d been a fun task, making sure each hair follicle wired up to sensory inputs and all that, not to mention the programming involved. A bit different than organic neurological setups.
> 
> Tarantulas felt a bit foolish at Prowl’s snort. Of  _course_  he’d have hobbies - it just wasn’t apparent to him. Besides, his definition of ‘hobby’ was more active than simply collecting magnets. “I - in a sense, yes. Most of them stem from my work or can be applied there in some way, but I suppose they still count. It’s a blurry line for me, so I figured - maybe it was for you as well? I don’t know.”

Prowl

> “Crowd dynamics?” Prowl frowned, puzzling that over. “But that’s… running simulations on how artificial crowds behave, correct? Not measurements of real crowds? But you’re not running a simulation, you’re actually processing real sensory data. How does that work?”
> 
> _Did_  Prowl have any hobbies that weren’t somehow related to his work? He had to think about that. Honestly, he didn’t let himself do things that he couldn’t tell himself were somehow practical—and “practical” meant something that enhanced his ability to do his job, whether or not the activity itself was _directly_ related to his work. Did doing something that maintained his mental health count as something that “stemmed from work” even if it had nothing otherwise to do with his work?
> 
> “It makes sense that the line’s blurry for you,” Prowl said. “If someone is perfectly suited for the function he’s performing, why would he want to do something else during his free time.”
> 
> He contemplated the question a moment longer. “I suppose… it is blurry for me, too. Albeit for different reasons.”
> 
> With that resolved, he focused again on Tarantulas’s shoulder. This time back and forth.

Tarantulas

> “Not so much simulations - more along the lines of… of…” Tarantulas hadn’t had to put it into words before - he’d just coded it and  _felt_  it, never discussed it. “I suppose crowd  _psychology_  would be more accurate, but it sounds ridiculous to call it that. In any case, I don’t feel the individual hairs, unless you single one out; it’s all relative to the surrounding follicles. My programming takes in all the single-point data and translates it into something simpler for my conscious mind to handle and respond to - and that’s where the crowd bit comes in, that translation part. It ends up being a mess of vectors that feel more like general trends in pressure and whatnot. The simulation side of things is more important for the opposite reaction - motor control - which is slightly different, but.” A casual shrug underneath Prowl’s hand.
> 
> Tarantulas would argue that maintaining mental health was more along the lines of “required for quality of life” than “stemming from work,” but that was beside the point. 
> 
> An oddly sheepish laugh. “I don’t know about ‘perfectly suited,’ but I understand. I mean to say - it’s not as if I don’t have other interests aside from science; science just…  _permeates_  everything.” Everything from the creative arts to sexual pursuits, honestly. There was no escaping it.
> 
> “Different reasons?” he inquired, a quiet purr layered under his vocals. If Prowl was this amenable to petting him moving forward, Tarantulas was going to be  _so_  spoiled.

Prowl

> “So it’s… averaged? The individual sensations are averaged into a single sensation and fed to your mind that way? Is the sensation across your  _entire_  pauldron averaged, or is it—a gradient? From where you’re touched to where you aren’t?”
> 
> The fact that Prowl needed to ask might be telling. He couldn’t average sensations. If a hundred objects were moving, he saw all one hundred independently. If a thousand objects were moving, he processed eight hundred and dumped two hundred in a blur, guesstimating how they behaved based on the ones he could track, or else he might crash trying to track them all. He couldn’t imagine how to be covered in thousands of sensory units and not feel each individually.
> 
> Ah, but for Prowl, the very reason he maintained his quality of life was for his work.
> 
> _He_  though Tarantulas was perfectly suited. But he wasn’t going to say so again. “I understand,” he said. “My work was like that before the war. It permeated everything.” It still permeates everything, even though he wasn’t doing it anymore.
> 
> “Mm…” Give him a moment to figure out the right words. “My hobbies aren’t related to what I do now, at all. But… they enable me to do what I’m doing now. I’m not sure if that makes sense.”

Tarantulas

> “They’re not averaged per se - they’re… it’s akin to a combination of a three-dimensional graph and a vector set? If you poked me, for example, it’d feel roughly like a 3D bell curve of pressure; the patterns of your fingertip pressure would translate to your texture; and if you traced a line it’d add a directional component to the plot. I could  _predict_ motions if I wanted to, but I know better than to waste time trying to program  _your_  brain into  _mine_.” A smile-quirk of his visor Prowl may or may not be able to see.
> 
> “What aspects of your work? Or - what hobbies? Do they persist today?” There he goes, finally getting around to directly asking the question he’d tried to ask earlier, as per usual. “Hmn, I can see that though. Anything you actually enjoy and aren’t merely  _duty-bound_  to engage in could be quite literally a salvation.”

Prowl

> “Hmm…” He slowly dragged his fingers through the fur, trying to imagine that. “So it’s like a continuous surface. Like touching armor.” Prowl could understand that.
> 
> A thin smile; Tarantulas had already programmed Prowl’s brain into someone else’s. A little of it even stuck.
> 
> “Tracking things. Solving mysteries,” Prowl said. “I can’t say I’ve  _lost_  any hobbies that I know of; so yes, I suppose they’ve persisted.” Tarantulas was exactly right—it was a salvation. That was more than he was willing to say. “What hobbies do you have?”

Tarantulas

> “It  _is_ , but then again it  _isn’t_. The hair follicles aren’t the only set I get feedback from, since the exoskeleton itself has multiple types of sensor embedded in it as well. So - integrate all the plots but don’t quite let the individual sensations bleed together, and that’s how I  _feel_.” And right about now, it felt pretty darn great. Tarantulas kept rolling his shoulder up minutely into Prowl’s hand, clearly encouraging him on.
> 
> No,  _Mesothulas_  had programmed someone  _else’s_  brain into someone else’s. The distinction was uncomfortably important to Tarantulas.
> 
> “Ah… and anything that involves those activities, I’m sure.” A lull of silence as Tarantulas thought of some. “…Why is it so  _hard_  to come up with something not work-related. I do program and engineer and tinker for my own amusement, but that’s also my  _job_. And even sketching and webbing, and… Maybe the occasional wiki-editing spree? See, it’s virtually impossible to separate work from play. Primus, sometimes my work  _is_  play, even.
> 
> “Oh, but I suppose self-modding might be my only hobby that isn’t work, since I’m not  _obligated_ to do it in the slightest… well, per se.”

Prowl

> “So like armor with a series of tiny nodes across them?” Prowl asked. “The—what did you call them, the follicles? That’s the base, right? Can the fibers not feel things independently?” Don’t worry, Tarantulas, Prowl doesn’t plan on stopping.
> 
> “Not  _anything_  that involves those activities. But many things.”
> 
> Prowl snorted. “You see? The better suited someone is to the work they’re doing, the less likely they are to have unrelated hobbies, because the less likely they are to want to do anything but what they’re already doing,” he said. “Self-modding is  _completely_  related to work. Look at you. You’re a walking experimental prototype. You network with other scientists by talking about your own mods. You gave similar mods to a pack of anarchists in exchange for their patronage.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes, that’s near-accurate. And the follicles are where the hairs stem from, yes. They  _can_  feel things independently, but it’s just too much work for  _me_  to handle all that data all the time, especially when it takes nanokliks to shunt it to an accessory drive and have it feed me important points and trends instead. If I wanted to, I could shut the system down and process it myself, but it cuts down on efficiency by 1.75%.” The number was uttered with revulsion.
> 
> A nod, and then an awkward laugh. “That’s true… although I wouldn’t consider myself a  _prototype_ , because each version is a standalone culmination of the chimeracon project. But - even then, I’m technically done with chimeracon modification. Everything else is unrelated, accessory, purely for fun - the main transition’s complete. It’s just… modding is just  _different_. I might not even call it a hobby, now that I think of it.”

Prowl

> “That much?” That was a massive drop in productivity. Prowl could see why he didn’t use that sensory data.
> 
> “Not a prototype then. But the point stands. And I’m sure any mods you do ‘for fun’ come from or can be fed back into your other scientific work. The fact that you’re even  _able_  to mod yourself at will comes from your work.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes,  _that_  much. In planning, I had to average out tactile sensitivity between tech and organic bits, and  _then_  I decided it wasn’t sufficient for some reason.” Essentially that meant his max tactile sensitivity was higher in both detail and quantity than any mech he’d ever scanned, but the downstream implications of that were a bit uncomfortable to verbally admit, so… he’d just let Prowl infer what he liked.
> 
> Vague squirming. “Yes… I suppose that’s true, they’re facilitated by my line of work and vice versa. But I’m not doing them for  _science_ , I’m doing them for  _me_. It might seem arbitrary, but they’re not the same thing.”

Prowl

> “‘For some reason’?” Prowl prodded. He didn’t quite work out the implications himself.
> 
> Prowl tried to keep his hand hovering over the same spot as Tarantulas squirmed under him. “You might not be doing them  _for_  science, but you’re using the same techniques across both your work and your hobbies. That’s what makes them similar,” he said. “I like watching sports. With projectiles, where I can track where they go. Tracking projectiles is the same thing I did as a mechaforensic investigator, so it’s all the same category for me, even though sports and forensics don’t otherwise overlap.”

Tarantulas

> Fair enough - Tarantulas hadn’t given him the whole picture anyhow. “Yes. Well. If you had the ability to add to your sensornet,  _wouldn’t_  you? It has its downsides, but it’s not  _all_  awful.” A low hum, and he slowed the squirming. Being petted was one of those nice ways to utilize the sensornet, after all.
> 
> “Hmn - are there any sports you prefer watching? Favorites? I can see how the categories overlap and exclude, certainly, but at the same time… it’s not the most accurate analogy to compare sports-watching to self-modding. Unless you feel  _compelled_  to seek it out. Or - maybe I’d chalk that up to personality differences, hyeh.”

Prowl

> Prowl considered the question seriously for a moment. “… No. I wouldn’t. In fact, if given the choice between increasing and reducing my sensitivity, I’d reduce it.” Everything feels too much.
> 
> “Sports that are still played?” Prowl smiled sardonically. “Every sport I used to like is gone. Now I just watch alien ones.” Which ones would Tarantulas recognize…? “You’ve been to Earth. Do you know what baseball is?”
> 
> A slight shrug. “I  _am_  compelled to seek out activities that make use of my strengths. But maybe it is different.”

Tarantulas

> That opened up an entirely new train of thought for Tarantulas. “That’s - really? Why?” He already knew their processors and preferences were disparate, but this seemed odder than usual. “That’s sensory deprivation, quite literally - I’d go  _nuts_  with any less. It’s already a struggle sometimes to dampen what I have.”
> 
> Almost as an example, Tarantulas shifted and wiggled his way into a half-sideways curl toward Prowl’s midsection instead of staying lying flat. He’d gotten restless just sticking to one position.
> 
> “Ah, yes I have. …Is it the statistics? I’m betting it’s the statistics, hyeh.”
> 
> A moment of thought, and Tarantulas left it at that. There was plenty more to say about the ‘compulsion’ bit, but they already had enough on their hands at the moment.

Prowl

> “My current sensornet is roughly ideal. Any more sensitivity would be overwhelming and damage my ability to process  _anything._  Any less, and I’d simply miss a few subtle details.”
> 
> It was too complicated, to try explain the appeal in a way that Tarantulas would understand—he didn’t see the world the way Prowl did. And even if he succeeded, it would say too much about both how Prowl’s mind worked and about how Prowl felt. So he didn’t explain. “ _Every_  sport has statistics. Although yes, I do appreciate how easily available and widely appreciated they are in baseball,” Prowl said. “Primarily, though, I just like watching it.” Not untrue. Just misleadingly simplified.
> 
> Prowl certainly had enough on  _his_  hands. Or under, as the case may be. With Tarantulas’s rotation, his legs were put in an awkward angle; so Prowl moved his hand from the connections between Tarantulas’s legs and back and instead to Tarantulas’s thigh.

Tarantulas

> Huh. “Well, I suppose that  _does_  make sense, but it still seems restrictive not to have access to the data if you want it. It’s not as if there aren’t ways to process differently - case in point.” Tarantulas twitched a spider limb in his own general direction.
> 
> A thoughtful hum of apparent understanding. Tarantulas wasn’t aware there was anything else beneath Prowl’s words, aside from the obvious that, yes, of course he was simplifying things. “I… I imagine there are other civilizations that have similar sports - I wonder if there’s something  _particular_  about the human version…” Hopefully it’d be clear to Prowl that this was more of an absentminded pondering than an actual question.
> 
> Ah - good, yes. Tarantulas rolled his hip slightly into Prowl’s touch, curling just that tiny bit more around him. This was so  _nice_. So close. He had the feeling that it’d be an easy slide into wanting, no, needing more and more - but at the same time, every little touch was a  _new_  one, a sensation he wanted to linger in as long as possible.

Prowl

> “But I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. If there were ever going to be a situation where I’d want more sensitivity than I currently have, I think I would have found it by now. But I haven’t, so I feel safe in saying that for all practical purposes my current arrangement is optimum for my needs.” He absentmindedly reached out to brush the twitching limb before he returned his hand to its prior position.
> 
> “Yes, there  _is_  something particular about the human version—it’s from a planet I know you’ve visited, so there were better odds that you’d recognize it if I mentioned it.” Yes, Prowl could tell it was absentminded pondering, but there was no sense in letting Tarantulas ponder too far away when there was a very straightforward explanation.
> 
> A positive reaction. Prowl was on a roll today. The sensation was hypnotic, the many long strands running between his fingers; if he weren’t trying to carry on a conversation, he could easily allow the texture to completely fill his conscious mind. Maybe another time. He doubted Tarantulas would be opposed, if his current reaction was anything to go by.

Tarantulas

> “Well, if your needs ever happen to change, you know who to comm.”
> 
> Despite his offhand tone, Tarantulas was still a little baffled. Why wouldn’t Prowl want  _more_? It was practical to limit himself, maybe, but if he had the chance, why  _not_? But he supposed it wasn’t worthwhile to dispute the point - they each had what they wanted. Prowl had his optimum sensornet for feeling the fur he was brushing against, and Tarantulas had the abundance of sensors to enjoy the petting as he saw fit.
> 
> Which - yes, by the way, Tarantulas would  _adore_  just lying there and having Prowl pet him. It might be difficult to stay still and quiet, but they could finagle it somehow.
> 
> “Visited. Heh. That makes it sound like I stopped by  _briefly_. I was there for a few thousand years, you know.” …Wait, scrap, was that sensitive material? Hard to tell - he’d just have to watch where the conversation went.

Prowl

> “Right,” Prowl said. “Ratchet.” A small smirk for Tarantulas. Prowl knows what Tarantulas meant.
> 
> “A long visit,” Prowl amended. “Either way, you were on Earth during the existence of baseball.”
> 
> His petting slowed down. “Can you roll on your back? I want to touch your chest.”

Tarantulas

> A squinted visor at that one. “ _Sure_ , yes. The expert on such matters.” Underneath the wryness there was a shadow of indignation - how dare he compare him to Ratchet. The mech was a wonder in his given field, but had he reformatted his whole sensornet, or anyone else’s, for that matter? No. 
> 
> “True enough. And I was indeed sufficiently in-tune with human culture to know of it, so.” He gave a light shrug that turned into actual shifting in Prowl’s lap at the following request, accompanied by some small noises that sounded suspiciously like grumble-whining. He’d been  _comfortable_ , dangit.
> 
> Eventually he managed to arrange himself in a decent position, all arms raised back behind his helm, with the main set propped just under the neck. Sprawled there, torso arched over Prowl’s thighs just a little and one knee bent. he couldn’t help but feel a  _tiny_  bit self-satisfied in his attractiveness. Just one of those moments.
> 
> A curious hum as he settled. “Why the chest? It  _is_  a different texture I suppose, but…”

Prowl

> Sure he has. Not into an  _organic,_  no, but he’s has to significantly rebuild and restructure some mechs, sensornet included.
> 
> Why the grumble-whining. “You could have said ‘no,’ you know.” Maybe he hadn’t made that clear enough. Oh well, Tarantulas was on his back now.
> 
> Sadly, Prowl is completely oblivious to Tarantulas’s attractiveness. He’s focused on his chest. “The different texture,” he confirmed. And his hands were headed straight for that texture, eager to check out the purple stripes. Why did they look different, and slightly recessed compared to the surrounding black fuzz? Were the hairs shorter? At an angle that kept them closer to the body? Time to find out.

Tarantulas

> “I  _could’ve_ , but it was just - a matter of inertia. I like this better.” A little wiggle in place. It  _was_  more comfortable ultimately, and plus, this way he could see Prowl better.
> 
> “Hmn - feel free to explore at will.” Then Tarantulas fell silent, letting his internals rumble contentedly in his chest.
> 
> The majority of the fur was akin to the shoulders, a bit shorter but just as thick. The stripes were unique in that there seemed to be little to no fuzz along them; instead they exposed the organic exoskeleton, which was thickened in ridges along those lines to serve as support for the overarching chestpiece.
> 
> Prowl might hesitate at the dissimilarity of exoskeleton to normal plating, particularly its slight give when pressed, but it would prove to be perfectly durable under any of his touches. If he did anything to ghost, drag, or scrape his fingers across it, he might actually get a squirm or muted giggle out of Tarantulas.

Prowl

> “Mm. Then I won’t ask you to move again.” He could reach everything he wanted to like this, anyway.
> 
> Prowl was hesitant to touch naked exoskeleton; even when he’d been combing through Tarantulas’s fur earlier, he’d been careful to keep his fingers just above the exoskeleton, not quite brushing him. Despite Tarantulas’s prior reassurances, he couldn’t help but worry that the flesh would be too delicate to handle Cybertronian touch, easily cracked or bruised. He only risked running a finger along the thicker ridges, thinking they looked durable enough to be less vulnerable to damage.
> 
> At Tarantulas’s giggle, a tiny smirk twitched at his mouth. “Are you ticklish?”

Tarantulas

> Maybe Prowl’s problem was that he considered the exoskeleton to be flesh in the first place. The give that it had belied the truth - it wasn’t squishy in the least, and the only lack of rigidity was for safety’s sake. If Prowl gave him a moment, Tarantulas might explain a little more about its dilatant qualities, but since he seemed to want to tread lightly, well…
> 
> “I -  _maybe_ , hyehehe. It’s a consequence of the lack of fur there, the sensors are -” A little hunch inward, Tarantulas’ mandibles twitching a little as if suppressing some more giggling. He was reaching upward towards Prowl’s arms, but not stopping him just yet. It wasn’t  _that_  awful, really.

Prowl

> Well, no, it wasn’t squishy. It was crunchy flesh.
> 
> Okay, okay, Prowl’s stopping. He didn’t want to torture Tarantulas. The ticklish bits had been an accidental discovery, but he wasn’t going to continue tickling without Tarantulas’s consent. The naked ridges didn’t feel nice, anyway. Prowl moved back to the fur. “Why don’t those strips have fur? Decoration or function?”

Tarantulas

> It wasn’t  _crunchy_ , either. Maybe… sclerotic? Sclerotized? But alas, Prowl wouldn’t have the slightest idea what that meant or implied.
> 
> Tarantulas relaxed back into his comfortable sprawl once Prowl relocated his hands into the fur. “Both and neither, really. Structurally they’re reinforced and less easily permeated by hair follicles, so I just didn’t try to force the matter. It did happen to be aesthetically pleasing as well, given the placement. The lines end up on my dorsal cephalothorax when I transform, and that’s often patterned or otherwise colored on tarantulas.”

Prowl

> Would it go  ** _crunch_**  if Prowl pushed it too hard? Probably. Therefore, it was crunchy.
> 
> “Hm. Yes, I’ve seen it in your alt-mode. Is all your organic armor that color underneath the fur, then?” Prowl started carefully trying to part the fur to glimpse the exoskeleton underneath. “I’ve only seen one real tarantula, and it was just brown. Do they come in many colors?”
> 
> An uncertain pause, and he glanced at Tarantulas’s face. “Is it offensive to say you’re not a ‘real’ tarantula? I don’t know how this works with chimeracons.”

Tarantulas

> _Try it_. It won’t. Hence, not crunchy.
> 
> Prowl would find that, underneath the fur, the exoskeleton was indeed the same color as the smooth ridges. So: “Yes, for the most part. There wasn’t any reason to color it otherwise.” As trivial as Tarantulas might be at times, he did admire practicality in execution. “And they’re quite varied in color, actually - if I’m not mistaken, there are species of each of the ROYGBIV hues and more.”
> 
> For a moment Tarantulas seemed thoughtfully confused. “You know, I’ve never thought of that before, but on gut reaction I’d say no. Because I’m not a tarantula in the first place - I’m a chimeracon. I know we’ve had a conversation about this before, but I’m something new entirely… so I suppose that doesn’t make me a ‘real’ tarantula, in the sense that I don’t belong in the set of all tarantulas? ‘Real’ tarantulas, before my existence at least, would have had the requirement that they weren’t partially mechanical… but that’d exclude cyborg tarantulas, which may sound silly, but… maybe ‘not originally mechanical,’ or…”
> 
> Alright, you lost him to thoughts about cyborg tarantulas and what it means to identify as a tarantula and whether tarantulas can consciously claim or even  _have_  identity, etc. etc. …Good luck getting him back.

Prowl

> He’s not going to try it. What if it does make Tarantulas go crunch? That’s not a risk he can take.
> 
> Huh. So Tarantulas was even more purple than Prowl had suspected. He let the fur smooth out again and resumed combing his fingers through it.
> 
> “All matters of sets aside—if you’re not offended, then I would say it’s not offensive. Matters of offense have less to do with objective, exterior, categorical realities, and more to do with how one subjectively interprets them,” Prowl said. “Although if we’re getting philosophical—there’s the matter to consider that you’re not just taking the  _shape_  of a tarantula, but you actually have genuine tarantula flesh over part of your body. Does that modify it? Are you, therefore, some sort of tarantula hybrid? Or are you wearing a tarantula?”

Tarantulas

> “Oh - yes, of course. I can’t say what Tidal Wave would have to say about not being a ‘real’ whale though…”
> 
> Ooh good, you hooked him back in with more definite questions - and a joke, apparently, judging by the way Tarantulas churred laughter at the last bit. “Nono, I’m  _definitely_  not  _wearing_ one. I grew this myself, in a fashion that never formed a fully functional organism on its own - I’m an exoskeleton-wearer at best. But based on the fact that the organic tissue itself is highly modified, I’d say…”
> 
> A pause, some narrow-visored thought, and a huff. “Taxonomy is  _disgustingly_ flawed, so I doubt we’ll be able to pin down whether or not I’m a ‘real’ tarantula… but I don’t  _feel_  like one. Is that sufficient?”

Prowl

> “Who?” Never heard of the guy. “And is he for or against being called a whale?”
> 
> He didn’t mean it as a joke, but if Tarantulas liked it then he wasn’t arguing. “We’re not determining how much of a tarantula you actually are, but rather whether it’s appropriate or inappropriate to refer to you as one based on your own opinions. Since it’s all subjective, I suppose how you feel is what matters here.”
> 
> A thoughtful pause; and then he asked, “Do you still consider yourself Cybertronian? Is a chimeracon a type of Cybertronian, to you? Or do you consider yourself something different now?”

Tarantulas

> “Oh - one of Mayhem. I’d hazard a guess that he’d  _hate_ being called a whale, but you never know. Maybe he went the other extreme and embraced the change whole-sparkedly. I never could read him.” In any case, the poor mech probably didn’t make peace with anything until after they stopped using him as an underwater base doormat.
> 
> A little wiggle-shift - apparently that translated as approval of Prowl’s conclusion. Words didn’t matter too much at this point, so he was taking the moment to appreciate the petting instead.
> 
> “Hmm… honestly? It doesn’t really much  _matter_  to me. As I mentioned, taxonomy is a shoddy attempt at categorizing the universe, and the species problem is virtually unsolvable,  _especially_  with respect to Cybertronians. If I had to answer? I’d say I’m culturally Cybertronian and biologically chimeracon. The two categories aren’t mutually exclusive, but they’re not necessarily even on the same plane. Does that make sense?”

Prowl

> “Ah.” He didn’t remember a mech named Tidal Wave in the report on Mayhem that Tarantulas had given him—but  _Prowl didn’t remember a name_  didn’t mean anything. He  _did_  remember reading that one of Mayhem’s team served as their base, and whales were huge, so. “Is he the one the others ride in?”
> 
> “Hmm.” He contemplated that quietly for a moment. He didn’t consider the species problem terribly difficult when it came to Cybertronians: they were all one species. But, the question of whether Tarantulas was still part of the species… He had been built one. Wouldn’t that mean he was still one? But if, hypothetically, Tarantulas had replaced his parts piece by piece until he was a full tarantula, surely at some point he would cross the line between Cybertronian and non-Cybertronian, so obviously that line had to be somewhere. Did  _Prowl_  think Tarantulas still was one?
> 
> … He did, yes. Tarantulas still had his spark; he still had his processor, his memories of Cybertronian life. Perhaps Prowl was underestimating the extent of his changes, but he seemed to Prowl like just a mech with extensive mods. “Yes, I suppose it does. Social category versus strict anatomical classification.” One hand drifted back to a shoulder. Less ridges to avoid. “If it’s fine by you, I’ll keep calling you a Cybertronian, then, and just leave the qualifiers off it.”
> 
> Part of Prowl  _wanted_  Tarantulas to stay as Cybertronian as possible. The farther he drifted away, the easier it was for him to shuffle off whatever remaining vestiges of sympathy he still held for Cybertronkind.  _The specimen._  That was already too distant.

Tarantulas

> “Technically, yes.” This seemed to amuse Tarantulas, but he wasn’t elaborating any more if Prowl wasn’t overtly curious. Getting into Noisemaze details wasn’t something he was keen on at the moment.
> 
> Now it was Tarantulas’ turn to hum thoughtfully. “…You know, now that you put it that way, I disagree with myself. Biologically Cybertronian and socially chimeracon. The latter is a construct… well, both literally and figuratively, hyeh. But in any case, just going by Cybertronian is fine. It’s not untrue, certainly.”
> 
> It didn’t really matter where Prowl put his hands now - Tarantulas had sufficiently relaxed both physically and in the conversation, enough to just bask in whatever touches he received. Petting was just so gosh-darned  _good_.

Prowl

> _Technically?_  Something to ask about later.
> 
> “What makes you socially a chimeracon? Is there a—a chimeracon culture, or community? What socially separates you from Cybertronians?”
> 
> Good, because he’s not stopping.

Tarantulas

> “Socially, in the sense that… there isn’t a  _culture_ , because there are hardly a handful of us, but I, as a social entity, exist as a chimeracon. Maybe in a similar way to beastformers, just without the history and connotations behind it. There isn’t anything  _technically_  separating them from other Cybertronians except their appearance. Chimeracons are a step in a different direction, but, still… it’s a, a matter of being different - well, both  _outwardly_ being different and, moreover,  _feeling_  different. I can’t say that’s exactly what the separation is, but it’s - something like that.”

Prowl

> “… Hm.” So it wasn’t something concrete. Just a vague sense of being an outsider.
> 
> “You still look like a Cybertronian to me.” He ruffled Tarantulas’s fur, “Except for the obvious.”

Tarantulas

> Vague, yes, but it was something that felt very real - so don’t mention that aloud to Tarantulas unless you want him irritated at you.
> 
> The ruffling drew out a happy purr. “ _Hyeh_ , I don’t think most Cybertronians would agree with you on that, but that’s quite alright.”

Prowl

> Oh, nice sound. Prowl kept the ruffling up for another moment before smoothing the fur back in place. “Pff. Whose opinion do you trust, ‘most Cybertronians’ or mine?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas decided just to keep up with the purr, letting the little vibrations roll in his chassis. He didn’t have reason to do it often, and it actually felt pretty good.
> 
> “On the matter of looking like a Cybertronian? Why should I trust a single biased opinion over an averaged pool in a matter like that?”

Prowl

> “Because  _you’re_  biased to  _my_  opinions. Obviously.” A smirk.

Tarantulas

> “I do  _try_  to keep up the pretense of being as objective as possible, you know. It’d hurt my nonexistent reputation otherwise.”
> 
> Why did Prowl have to look so  _charming_  like that? It wasn’t fair. So, you couldn’t really blame Tarantulas for wiggling just a tad, too pleased to keep still.

Prowl

> “I won’t tell anyone else if you don’t.”
> 
> He assumed that the wiggling was for the petting. More petting, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We had to fade out on this thread due to how long it took to complete and how others started... Just assume nothing particularly important happened aside from more petting and chatting, and eventually one of them has to go do something and they part ways. Before leaving, they make plans to see each other again not too far in the future. Prowl tells Tarantulas he has _rules_ for them to discuss, and to come prepared with any of his own.


	26. Rules Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl sets some ground rules; the second rule causes some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this chapter talks about emotional and psychological abuse in great detail.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t sure if it was better or worse to actually have an appointed time to see Prowl next. Yes, it was reassuring and gratifying to know he had a spot in Prowl’s schedule, but… well. This didn’t seem like the kind of encounter he’d particularly enjoy.
> 
> As per his statement, it was inevitable that Prowl would have dozens of restrictions and limitations to establish, in the name of maintaining a “sustainable ongoing alliance.” Hah. It was only inevitable Tarantulas wasn’t going to like a single one of them. And did Tarantulas have anything he wanted to ask of Prowl moving forward? What was _he_  going to get out of it all? Honestly he couldn’t think of a single thing, which left him with very little negotiating power. Maybe he’d come up with something on the fly during the conversation, but otherwise he was effectively at Prowl’s mercy.
> 
> In any case, the time eventually came for Tarantulas to pop on over - there was nothing he could do about it now but dive in head-first.
> 
> He sent Prowl a questioning ping - ready?

Prowl

> Well, we don’t negotiate rules because we enjoy them. We negotiate them to maintain order and establish boundaries. Prowl was sure this was going to be even more of a chore for him than for Tarantulas. Not only was he going to have to propose the rules; he was also going to have to fight tooth and nail every step of this conversation to get Tarantulas to respect those rules, he’d have to struggle to cover every loophole and omission Tarantulas might try to exploit, and he’d have to live from here on out with the fear that Tarantulas would simply decide one day to ignore the rules.
> 
> But, this was the best he could do.
> 
> A responding ping. Ready. Today, he’s at his berth-desk. A makeshift chair has been made from chunks of a wall and set up across from Prowl. All his usual datapads are turned off and stacked neatly next to the headboard.
> 
> When Tarantulas arrives, Prowl gestures to the makeshift chair. Take a seat.

Tarantulas

> Hey now, struggling against being drowned in seemingly-unnecessary strictures is a lot of hard work, too. Don’t invalidate Tarantulas’ experience, geez.
> 
> Tarantulas figured Prowl would be upstairs in the berthroom based on their interactions thus far, and he wasn’t disappointed. He _was_  disappointed, however, by the business-like setup. This would have been marginally more comfortable if they were lying on the couch again…
> 
> He sat down as directed though, managing to settle into the chunky chair in a decently painless position, one leg pulled up as per usual. He tried to keep his spider limbs relaxed and casual despite the tension strung through his systems.
> 
> A little helm-tilt. “Hello to you too, Prowl dear. Rearing and ready to go, aren’t you?”

Prowl

> That would have been an ideal position from which Tarantulas could distract Prowl. They were going to do this properly and professionally, and not make mistakes they were going to fight about and resent each other for later.
> 
> Besides, this _was_  business. Negotiating their working relationship. Just like the one they had during the war, but—hopefully—less flawed.
> 
> A nod. “I am. I’d rather leave socializing until after we’ve finished. Unless you have something important to address first?”

Tarantulas

> Best of luck to them in their mostly one-sided efforts to forge a better relationship than the ones they had with their respective alt-partners. At least this was the second time around and they (hopefully) learned something from their experiences.
> 
> “No no, nothing in particular. We might as well dive in, then.” An almost imperceptible sigh. “You ought to take point - I’ve absolutely _no_  idea where to start.”

Prowl

> “Right.” Prowl nodded, and picked up a datapad—the only one that hadn’t been stacked away with the rest. “Before I begin, let me clarify that this is supposed to be a collaborative effort. You have the right to question anything I propose—to ask for clarification, to propose additions and suggestions, or to… disagree. And I reserve the same right for anything you propose. However, I have a very strong stance on all of the terms I’m proposing. If you outright object to any, that’s going to take a _lot_  of discussion. I don’t say that to try to discourage you from voicing objections. I want the rules we come up with to be mutually satisfactory.”
> 
> He turned the datapad on. “Let’s start with the obvious: until confirmed otherwise, assume that nothing about each other’s alternates that was true millions of years ago in a parallel universe is true here and now for each other. We can use our alternates as bases for only rough predictions of each other’s pasts and behaviors, because it would be impossible to _not_  let those memories influence to some extent; but we must keep in mind at all times that these predictions may be completely false, and must seek to have our predictions either confirmed or denied.” He glanced up at Tarantulas. “Thoughts?” He didn’t expect this one to cause any trouble.

Tarantulas

> Some amused chittering. “Yes, _collaborative_ , but do keep in mind that the fact that you’re ‘taking point’ means you take a certain amount of precedence in the conversation. I’m willing to concede that, but try not to let it go to your head.” A little visor smirk.
> 
> Tarantulas watched the datapad, as if squinting at it would give him any hints as to what was to come. It wasn’t long until his focus had shifted though, never quite settling, although he did still seem to be paying attention. Just, restless, of course.
> 
> A moment of thought before he answered. “How about - hyeh. An addition. I’ll need _time_ to think - and it might be in our mutual best interest for you not to add new thoughts while I’m still processing earlier ones. It should be fairly clear when I’m processing, but hopefully you’ll allow me to shush you if I need to.
> 
> “Other than that - the propositions are acceptable.”
> 
> Alright, here comes the first processing moment. It lasted barely a few seconds, but still. “…Yes. I agree. If anything, I think that may be more of a difficulty for you than for me, actually. And, I _would_  like to make a note - in looking to confirm or deny predictions, that implies we’re asking not only for information about each other, but also about our past alternates, even if it’s just a yes or no fact. Is that something you’re comfortable with divulging - on a case-by-case basis, I presume?
> 
> “An example, for clarity’s sake - if you were to ask whether I worked on a certain project, you’re not only asking about my involvement, you’re also begging the question of your own Mesothulas’ history. Do I have the right to ask the reciprocal question? Is it fair that I refrain from answering if you deny reciprocation?”

Prowl

> Prowl shrugged apologetically. “ _One_  of us has to go first,” he said. “And you offered to let me. But I want this to be equal.”
> 
> He nodded. “Of course. You’ll—probably have to shush me a couple of times.” _Fairly clear_  was code word for _you won’t notice a thing and then I’ll assume you willfully ignored the signals I was sending_. “But yes, of course. Take whatever time you need. I don’t want to rush you. And if I accidentally do, ask me to hush for a moment.” It wouldn’t do either of them any good to rush each other.
> 
> “Good. Then hopefully we’ll only have to worry about my breaking the rule, and I’ll be trying to actively avoid it.” Yes, he was probably going to mess up a few times. They could work through that.
> 
> He leaned back slightly, considering the question. Slowly, he said, “On a case-by-case basis, yes.” He sat up straighter again, scrolling on his datapad. “That actually touches on another point I wanted to bring up, later. So for now, provisionally: yes, we have the right to ask questions about each other’s pasts. We also both have the right to refuse to answer any questions, or any reciprocal questions.
> 
> “But I don’t think we should predicate our decisions to answer a question based on whether the other will answer his question. We can’t assume the other is obligated to answer his question. Rather, we should answer based solely on whether or not we are comfortable sharing that answer. Otherwise choosing to answer or not answer could turn into just a way to manipulate each other into sharing information we may not be ready to share.
> 
> “Is that reasonable?”

Tarantulas

> An amused nod about the shushing. Tarantulas expected it’d be _more_ than a couple times - his tenseness made it harder to concentrate - so it was good to get that out of the way.
> 
> Tarantulas was curious about what that later point might be, but they’d get to it when they got to it. For now: “You _do_ know that refusing to answer implies that the truth is whatever answer we’re likely to want to hide - so not answering is answering in itself. I’m slightly uncomfortable with that.” He hoped Prowl would be as well, but frankly they both knew the chimeracon had much more to conceal than his prospective partner.
> 
> And yes, he was fully aware that asking for reciprocation was thinly veiled manipulation - hence the questioning behind it. At the very least, Tarantulas could try to reasonably justify his manipulation in advance, but it seemed this instance would require more subtlety if he wanted to wrest extra information from Prowl.

Prowl

> “I would like to think we can demonstrate enough basic respect for each other to not deliberately attempt to corner each other into revealing an answer we don’t want to reveal—although that’s also a point I want to discuss later.” It always came back to respect.
> 
> “The arrangement is not ideal, because there _is_ a risk of one of us finding out answers the other didn’t want to share just by asking the wrong question. But what’s the alternative? Never asking each other any questions about each other under any circumstances for fear of accidentally trapping each other into unwillingly revealing something isn’t an acceptable alternative. Do you have another idea to propose?”
> 
> A thin enough veil that Prowl can see through it. He’s on guard for manipulation from Tarantulas. And he’s disappointed it started so early. This should have been an easy point to discuss.

Tarantulas

> _ Another _  later point. How many did Prowl have, even? Tarantulas was starting to get a little worried.
> 
> “I’m more concerned about either of us _accidentally_ stumbling upon things we’d rather not talk about with regards to our own pasts, but - it seems we’ll have to resolve all situations as mentioned, on a case-by-case basis. I suppose no one ever said this was going to be easy.” A wry squint. “In any case, I don’t have any solid _objections_  or _alternatives_ , I simply said I felt uncomfortable.
> 
> “By the way, I’d like to note that just because an arrangement isn’t ideal doesn’t mean that anyone is proposing the complete opposite. _Probably_ best not to jump to extremes.” His tone was light and nonargumentative - hopefully he could keep that up for the duration of the conversation.

Prowl

> “Accidentally stumbling on things we won’t want to share is an inevitability, but also accidental. I’m more concerned about _deliberately_ stumbling upon something secret and pretending it’s accidental.” That’s aimed at you, Tarantulas. He expects you to do that. His tone isn’t accusatory, though; just matter-of-fact.
> 
> “No, no one is sincerely proposing the opposite. Which is why I invited you to propose a workable middle ground or third option. Which, I suppose, you did. Although I would have liked something a bit more… precise? prescriptive? than simply ‘resolve it on a case-by-case basis.’ I’d prefer as few doubts as possible going into this, since many more are bound to spring up later.” A soft sigh. “But, under the circumstances, I suppose this is the highest degree of certainty we can achieve on this topic.”
> 
> Tap tap tap—he’s adding notes to his datapad, putting in the revisions Tarantulas proposed. “In that case, I am prepared to consider this point resolved and to move on to the next. If you are?”

Tarantulas

> “Well, I _personally_ don’t have any plans for asking leading questions like that, hyeh.” An actual truth - but that didn’t mean he might not sometime in the future.
> 
> A pause. “…What if, if at all possible, we inform the other party of the subject matter before asking the specific question? That way we can block out entire categories without singling out one thing.” Another pause. “That _would_  mean the entire subject would become one of particular interest to the curious party though. It’d just be a step backward, really. Alas.
> 
> “Strike that, then. I’ll keep it on reserve and see if I can’t come up with something else later - we’re free to move on.”

Prowl

> Not yet, maybe. But that didn’t mean he never would. Tarantulas rarely made _plans_ , anyway.
> 
> “… No, I like the idea,” Prowl said. “If the curious party becomes particularly interested in the subject, then that’s the curious party’s problem, and he can keep it to himself. The main danger, though, is that if the category is too broad, it might also block off communication about safer questions in the same category…” So maybe not then.
> 
> “We can renegotiate it later if we have to.” Scroll, scroll. The first point was to just get them warmed up. From here? He was moving straight into the most serious topic.
> 
> “Second: we cannot merely have mutual admiration. There must be mutual respect. That means both mentally regarding each other with respect and physically treating each other with respect—and includes respecting each other’s fears, goals, opinions, and boundaries.” He suspected that one would be the easiest to get Tarantulas to agree to and the most difficult to get Tarantulas to stick to.

Tarantulas

> “See, yes. Even for a middle-ground solution, it’s still too limiting.” Aside from that, Tarantulas didn’t seem to have anything else to say on the matter, giving a nod when Prowl scrolled on down to the next question.
> 
> Huh. Tarantulas quirked half his visor. “I - why is that even a bulletpoint in this discussion? I’d think it was understood. The respect, I mean. I -” An awkward pause, and a claw raised to his mandibles briefly. “I… _do_ admit to not respecting a _particular_ boundary in the past, but I’ve since apologized and refrained from repeating the action. Is there something else going on that I’m not aware of?”

Prowl

> “I’m not willing to take it as implied.” Prowl set the datapad down, laced his servos together, and looked at Tarantulas.
> 
> “I would like to give your question a thorough and accurate answer. Could I have your agreement, temporarily, to not say anything until I’m done speaking?”

Tarantulas

> Oh Primus. Cue that awful terrible sinking feeling in Tarantulas’ tanks. He met Prowl’s gaze, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it for long.
> 
> Shift shift. His tone took on the tiniest hint of a whine. “I - but what if I - if what you have to say is really _that_  long, or detailed, or what have you, how am I supposed to remember what you said at the start by the time you’re done? You _know_ how I am, Prowl.”

Prowl

> “I’ll record it for you,” Prowl said. “I’ll comm it to you when I’m finished. Regardless, I don’t think that will be an issue.”

Tarantulas

> The sinking feeling got worse.
> 
> “All - alright. I’ll do my best.”

Prowl

> “Very well.” He picked up another datapad, turned it on, reset his vocalizer— “Here is  _every single way_  you have demonstrated disrespect for me since the moment we met—that I know of.” And then launched into the sort of interminable monotone lecture that had been known to drive hardened Decepticons to suicide.
> 
> “You have lied to me, repeatedly. You concealed the fact that you were from another universe, and spoke in a way that deliberately led me to believe you were from here, even after you knew that I know and work with mechs from other universes. When I caught you in my room in the middle of the night you lied about what you were up to, and perpetuated the lie by pretending to perform fictional scans. You lied to me about scanning me. You lied to me about deleting the scans. You repeatedly try to minimize your dishonesty—you once criticized me for supposedly being overly judgmental of you based on ‘one lie’ after I had discovered many of the lies you’d told me.
> 
> “You constantly criticize how I speak—especially if I’m not saying what  _you_  want me to. You have called me ‘all about ulterior motives,’ foolish—for something you  _assumed_  I would do, not something I  _had_  done—too paranoid for my own good, an ‘abused trope,’ tense and demanding—for asking you to uphold a bargain you had made—resistant to facetiousness, verbose—and then criticized me for  _not_  being verbose—a spoilsport, silly, a cheater, accusatory—when you admitted what I accused you of  _was in fact true._ You belittle me. You scold and tease me for my comments and perspective. You mock and criticize my actions when I’m not doing what you want me to do but you don’t want to look cruel by forcing me. You taunt and disparage me for being serious—especially if I’m being serious in the face of your disrespect for me.
> 
> “When I say ‘yes’ to what you want you’re pleasant, but the moment I say ‘no,’ no matter  _what_  reason I give for giving a limit, you start deriding me. You continue badgering me to try to do what I told you I don’t want to do, and I have to say ‘no’ multiple times without flinching once before you accept it.
> 
> “Once I said I didn’t want to give you sensitive information over comms in Starscream’s cell, and you scoffed at me, called me paranoid, called me controlling, and guilt-tripped me over locking you away. At another point, you refused to hand over information that we’d agreed to exchange unless I handed over information we  _hadn’t_  agreed to exchange, then denied it when I called you out on it; and then, later, teased me for demonstrating wariness about your willingness to go through with the exchange, even though you yourself induced that wariness. And, even after teasing me, you waited until after I’d handed over my half of the bargain and then  _continued_  to tease me by refusing to hand over the information, despite the fact that you already knew that I was dubious of your willingness to go through with the bargain, and therefore you did it to make me feel insecure and to establish power over me, at the expense of my feelings.
> 
> “You contacted many of my friends and associates behind my back to try to get close to them, without telling me or asking me, and pretended that we were close friends, and I don’t know  _how_  you got their comm signals but I doubt it was through a channel respectful of my boundaries. You also dodged the issue of whether you’d stolen my comm records. You bugged my quarters without my permission. You attempted to stalk me online without my knowledge by making a Big Conversation profile under a different name. You altered the energon dispenser in my quarters without my consent, without asking, and without informing me.
> 
> “You said, full stop, that you  _would_  get a physical out of me, regardless of what I may have said to the contrary, which is a violation of my free will, my privacy, and my bodily autonomy. You repeatedly criticize my choice of medical care and argue that I should submit myself to  _your_  care again, thus questioning my judgment and challenging my right to control my own body by choosing who works on it. You persisted in challenging my choice before  _and_  after I got surgery.
> 
> “You attempted to twist my words around to force me into agreeing to a physical examination when you knew I had already said no to it, and tried to say that I  _did not have the option to tell you no_. And then you denied it to my face, in an attempt to minimize your intrusive behavior, and to gaslight me by denying that I could trust my own memory. When I quoted your own words back to you to show where you’d lied, you called me  _nit-picky_ , again attempting to act like you’d done nothing wrong and I was simply overreacting.
> 
> “This is something you repeatedly do. When I tell you that you’re getting angry and aggressive, you deny it to my face, despite the fact that your behavior belies the lie, which is a blatant effort to attempt to—one—continue getting away with trying to intimidate and aggress me, and—two—make me doubt my ability to reliably interpret your actions. You act like I have a problem when I assert my own boundaries and call you out for trying to trample them. You minimize your own behavior by calling it teasing after the fact, when it’s clearly angry, aggressive, and demanding at the time. You retroactively claim you’re being ‘facetious’ when you say something I object to—again, trying to make me doubt my own perceptions. You would rather get what you want than allow me to be able to trust myself.
> 
> “You lied to me about the egg thing, which I understand is a matter of personal shame for you so I wouldn’t have considered that an act of disrespect against me—except when I guessed correctly why it made you uncomfortable, you told me I was wrong; and when I later discovered that I was, essentially, correct,  _you still told me I was wrong_ , and  _continued_  to maintain that I was wrong, even when the truth had come to light. You even went so far as to act as though  _you_  had told  _me_  a truth I hadn’t figured out despite the fact that  _I had figured it out_. Had that been an isolated incident I would be willing to blame your drunkenness and believe that you honestly thought they were different enough that I was indeed wrong. As it’s  _not_  an isolated incident, and as it continued even after you sobered up, it is far more likely that you simply wanted to discredit my perspective and my intelligence. You are invested in treating me like I am incapable of understanding you, because as long as you maintain your narrative, you can deny anything I accuse you of doing.
> 
> “You snuck into my room in the middle of the night and watched me sleep—I don’t know how many times. You violated my privacy and bodily autonomy by scanning me without my consent. Not only is that egregious all on its own, but we’d also already agreed upon exactly how much of my blueprints I was permitting you to have, so you were violating not only my right to privacy and my right to decide how much information about my body I was going to share,  _but also_  directly violating the agreement we had made. When I asked you to let me scan the device to make sure you’d deleted the blueprints like you promised, you grumbled and groused about it, as though somehow  _I_  was imposing on  _you_  by making sure you had indeed deleted the scans you had stolen from me— _and, might I remind you, you hadn’t deleted them_. You tried to excuse your disrespectful violation by saying it was  _well-intentioned_. You  _justified_  violating my autonomy by saying you thought  _getting my consent would inconvenience you_. You have demonstrated that you  _don’t care_  about my consent and you  _don’t think it matters_ , even when it concerns  _my own body_.
> 
> “And when I told you I don’t want you to do anything to me without my consent, you said that would cause ‘useless arguments.’ That’s all my consent is worth to you. It’s a  _useless argument_  you have to shoulder your way through to get to what you want. What I feel and think doesn’t matter to you. You see my assertion of my own rights, preferences, and desires not as something of worth that deserves your respect, but as an instigation of a fight you have to win.
> 
> “If you think you are right—and you  _always_  do, without listening to or considering my perspective first, and without considering it might be valid independently of your beliefs—then you think you are  _entitled_  to whatever you want from me, and I’m merely a fool if I don’t give it to you. And you do that because you want to be right, because being able to tell yourself you’re right makes you think you deserve to get whatever you want from me, no matter how I feel.
> 
> “And after all of this— _all_  of the above, ALL of it—you asked me for  _the benefit of the doubt_. You said we  _had to start somewhere_ , and that  _I_  should be the one to start it. After everything you did.
> 
> “You also promised, from that moment on, that you would change. Here’s what you’ve done since then.”
> 
> And Prowl would have gladly and monotonely gone on to tell Tarantulas what he’d done since then, if Tarantulas hadn’t taken that moment to interrupt.

Tarantulas

> It was even worse than Tarantulas expected. Exponentially worse.
> 
> He started out the monologue actually watching Prowl as he spoke, but it wasn’t long before his gaze flickered off. He couldn’t stand looking at someone while they were  _accusing_  him like that, regardless of whether or not the accusations were true. Which…
> 
> It stung - a pain that morphed into a simmering burn. Tarantulas was able to brush it off at first, but as Prowl kept going, and going, and _going_ , it was harder and harder to ignore. He was - _somewhat_  right. Some of it. Maybe. Tarantulas had the feeling Prowl had receipts behind his statements - wait, how slagging long must that have taken to compile all this? - but maybe they were open to interpretation? Prowl was just overreacting, surely. This - it didn’t - it wasn’t _that_  egregious. His statements were overblown at best. Yes.
> 
> And hadn’t Tarantulas been joking during at least half of these occasions? Just because Prowl didn’t agree with his facetiousness didn’t mean - he wasn’t _actually_  doing that, was he? No, certainly not.
> 
> Tarantulas visibly bristled when the subject of eggs was brought up. _Really_. It was probably a good thing Prowl had made him promise silence.
> 
> The bristling turned to restless shifting, active twitching, as if he were primed and ready to explode. Eventually it left Tarantulas bent over with his elbows on his knees and head in his claws, staring - no, _glaring_  at the floor.
> 
> No - no no no, _no_. **No _._**
> 
> As soon as Prowl uttered the words “ _Here’s what you’ve done since then_ ,” Tarantulas broke down, visibly shaking and letting his head slip down under the clutches of his claws.
> 
> **_ PING _ ** .
> 
> Because he’d promised not to talk, but pings didn’t count, right? Even here, even now, he was _always_  about the exception to the rule.

Prowl

> He watched, carefully, as Tarantulas’s posture shifted and transformed. As he curled in on himself, trying to get away. Searching his body language for signs of rage, of imminent violence—that was his worst case scenario, the fear that Tarantulas would attack him to make him shut up— _you think I’ve been cruel? THIS is what CRUELTY looks like_. He saw hints of oncoming violence in every twitch and shift and bristle. 
> 
> So he _started_ , with a sharp gasp, when Tarantulas pinged him. Despite his even monotone, his neutral expression, he was… on edge.
> 
> No. Not on edge. That was selling it short. Be honest with yourself, Prowl. You’re afraid.
> 
> A moment of silence. And then Prowl said—voice, again, even—“Yes?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was so wrapped up in the twisted brambles of his own mind that he didn’t notice Prowl’s wariness, the fear, even the gasp. It was for the best - it would have only added to the tumult both in mind and body.
> 
> Silent for a moment, he maintained his position, curled and rigid, spider limbs arching just like his spinal strut. His physicality wasn’t necessarily a sign of impending violence, but it still wouldn’t hurt for Prowl to be cautious.
> 
> His voice was hushed, strained, halting.
> 
> “I - require _-_ a _moment_.”

Prowl

> Slowly, Prowl nodded. “Yes, that’s… I understand.” It had to be hard to listen to. Especially if Tarantulas _was_  actually listening, rather than defensively building up a wall between himself and the words. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to continue.”
> 
> And he’ll be listening for signs of violence.

Tarantulas

> In actuality it was somewhere between the two - Tarantulas was frantically struggling to build a wall, while Prowl continuously and viciously tore it down with every word.
> 
> Tarantulas shuddered and slumped slightly. Thank _Primus_ Prowl was allowing a reprieve. But - where could he go? He couldn’t stay, neither here in front of Prowl nor in the apartment in general. Just knowing the Constructicons were around was enough to shut down the possibility of stepping out of the room.
> 
> Well, he’d have to climb into the vents, then. Jerkily Tarantulas uncurled and abandoned his seat, transforming and sizing down in a rush to escape. Then - up into the nearest vent and out through a hastily conjured portal.
> 
> Prowl wouldn’t be able to hear any sounds of violence all the way from the distant lab ruins, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Once he’d rerooted - ** _slam,_** the impact of Tarantulas’ paws against the nearest wall, then a tortuous scraping drag of claws downward. The following choked noise from his vocalizer spoke more of _distress_ than fury though.
> 
> Tarantulas crumpled to his knees. Give him a while to compose himself - he’s not coming back until he’s fully built and fortified that mental wall.

Prowl

> Prowl will wait.
> 
> He was worried about what Tarantulas was doing, alone with his own thoughts. Taking the opportunities to build up defenses, no doubt. To minimize the things he did, to downplay his actions, to tell himself that Prowl was willfully misinterpreting him or that Prowl was being irrational or that Prowl was being hysterical or that Prowl was being paranoid.
> 
> It was what Tarantulas did every time they had a conversation and Prowl tried to point out how Tarantulas was treating him. He wasn’t just trying to convince Prowl that his actions weren’t so bad, that they were well-intentioned and right. He was perpetually convincing himself as well.
> 
> Prowl hoped he was wrong. Prowl hoped Tarantulas had been truly listening, with the walls down, and was taking what Prowl said to spark. But he didn’t have high hopes.
> 
> But that was why he was doing this, wasn’t it? That was why he was going so far. If Prowl’s words alone weren’t strong enough to get through Tarantulas’s mental wall—then perhaps their sheer weight would knock it down.
> 
> So he waited.

Tarantulas

> That was exactly what Tarantulas was attempting to do - that is, if he could only tune out the chorus of _no no No NO NO_ that looped endlessly in his mind. But maybe he didn’t _want_ to think about it. Maybe that was why the word reverberated so incessantly and emphatically.
> 
> _ Prowl, _ though. Prowl. He was doing this for Prowl. Everything was in their best interests - the lies, the boundaries violated, he’d done it all for the sake of - for the sake of what? For the alliance? Their mutual happiness? _Slag._ It was for Prowl, but then again - he didn’t even know anymore.
> 
> But what did it matter? It was for the best, surely. He was right, he knew it. Let Prowl air his grievances and get this out now, and they could carry on as if this’d never happened. Yes, it’d be fine. All he had to do was go back and get this over with.
> 
> …Easier said than done. The tension didn’t leave his frame for quite some time - not until he got the chorus of No’s to fade out. It _did_ happen though, and once he’d calmed down sufficiently, he stood up, wavered for a moment, and ported his way back.
> 
> Tarantulas pinged Prowl shortly before dropping out of the vent across the room, automatically rerooting from his tiny spider mode. A few seconds of hesitation, then he reclaimed the makeshift chair he’d been assigned to without a word. His dim, lowered visor suggested deference instead of his prior avoidance - hopefully a promising sign.

Prowl

> Prowl had been busy while Tarantulas was gone—hunched over the rest of his speech, worried it wasn’t strong enough, worried the words wouldn’t get through to him unless he made it  _more_ , made the arguments stronger, made his language clearer. Words were hard, language was hard, and this had to be right. This might be his only chance to get through to Tarantulas. Prowl was fussily editing in another paragraph when Tarantulas returned.
> 
> He looked up, his jaw set—not a hint of the nervousness he actually felt. He didn’t know what Tarantulas’s posture meant now. But there wasn’t… emotion in it. At least no emotion Prowl could detect. Neither anger nor the hint of grief that might mean Prowl was getting through to him, the hint he thought he might have seen before Tarantulas left. Perhaps he’d already built up the wall again. Perhaps he was just humoring Prowl now.
> 
> Prowl hoped not.
> 
> “Ready?” He waited for Tarantulas’s nod; and then continued. “This is everything you’ve done  _since_  you promised that you were going to change your behavior.
> 
> “You acted aggressively and threateningly toward one of the Constructicons—who are  _part of me_  and  _concerned about me_ —when he came to check and make sure I was alright and interrupted our kiss. You  _continued_  to act aggressively  _after I backed him up_. You think what you wanted him to do was more important than what I wanted, when  _he was there for me_. You want to run off people who are concerned about me so you can do whatever you want to me without challenge,  _even when I disagree with what you want to do_.
> 
> “And  _even later_  you demonstrated that you’ve got a grudge against Bonecrusher. Even though you know that he was supporting what I wanted. You resent him for  _helping me defend my boundaries_.
> 
> “When you left, you tried to grab at me. That’s a minor act of violence—but it is, undeniably, by definition, an act of violence. It was a physical act against my body designed to cow and intimidate me, and if you did it once I have no reason to believe you won’t do it again, and do worse, if you ever feel like I’m not giving you some part of myself you think you’re entitled to.
> 
> “Afterwards, when I tried to comm you, you ignored me for over two hours. That’s a punishment tactic. You were punishing me for asserting my boundaries. You were punishing me for saying I didn’t want any more. I have no reason to think that in the future you won’t try to punish me for not giving you everything you want and as much of it as you want whenever you want it.
> 
> “You got snide and sarcastic with me for not wanting to commit to a term for our relationship yet. You got sarcastic with me over the fact that I have boundaries. You acted like your breaking any rules I might ask for is an inevitability and that the problem is with the fact that I  _have_  rules, not with the fact that you can’t respect them.
> 
> “You’ve said that certain details about  _my_  life are  _your_  business, because they concern your alternate. You think that you’re entitled to hear about my life if you think the subject matter is of interest to you. You think you have some sort of ownership over my history and my secrets, and I am depriving you of your right if I don’t tell you about the parts of  _my_  life you’ve declared to be within your purview. When I said I wasn’t going to talk about a subject, you barreled on with it, ignoring what I had said completely, in order to keep asking questions. You think you can steamroll over my ‘no’s until you get what you want.
> 
> “You have attempted to manipulate me into revealing information I said I didn’t want to reveal by asking me what I feared would happen if you didn’t share that information. Today,  _you_  just said a moment earlier that you were ‘uncomfortable’ with the possibility that one of us asking questions about the other’s past and the other refusing to answer could inadvertently reveal information.  _You_  just said that you had no plans to intentionally ask me a question I couldn’t answer so you could draw a conclusion from my refusal to answer. And yet you’ve tried to do that very thing to me in the past.
> 
> “You suggested that your emotional health was in danger if I didn’t  _reward_  you for good behavior by giving you information that I didn’t want to share. You’re trying to guilt-trip me into giving you what you want, at the expense of my own boundaries, by putting responsibility for your well-being on my actions rather than on  _yourself_. The first time, maybe, it was a joke—but considering how you try to gaslight me by claiming ‘facetiousness,’ I doubt it.
> 
> “Later, you tried again to make me responsible for you. This time not for your emotional health, but for  _your very physical safety and survival_ , by trying to manipulate me into serving as your personal alarm clock. When I tried to offer you alternative solutions, you gave me excuse after excuse for why you couldn’t use  _any possible alarm clock_  other than  _me_. You didn’t want an alarm clock at all. You wanted me, personally, at your beck and call, calling and checking in on you whenever you wanted, and you were willing to lead me to believe that  _you could die_  if I didn’t. You tried to force me to believe that your death would be on my hands if I didn’t sacrifice my own time and cater around your own desire for an alarm clock. You even blamed me for the fact that you started the projects that were so dangerous, because I somehow  _inspired_  you—something I have no control over. You blamed me for the projects you chose to start, and said you might die because of them, and it was my fault, unless I served as your personal alarm clock. When I asked you what the probability was that you might actually die—which, may I remind you yet again, you tried to convince me  _would be my fault_ —you refused to give me a straight answer. And it turned out you refused to give a straight answer because, in fact, the probability that you might actually die was .01%. So. You’d lied to me, yet again. This time about your safety.
> 
> “At the end of all that—all of that manipulation, all the wheedling and begging and telling me there could be nobody and nothing but me to wake you up, and telling me that your death would be on my hands if I didn’t—once you had no more arguments and knew you wouldn’t persuade me, you shoved me off the line by saying you were exhausted. You called me ‘overly tense’ after you spent a whole conversation trying to put your life in my hands.
> 
> “You implied a threat to the Constructicons, who are part of me and who try to protect me, and whom I permit and encourage to do so. You have started keeping  _strikes_  against them, implying you intend to take punitive action against them if  _you_  decide they’ve gone too far. You said that you were going to do something to them to ‘teach them manners’ that involved individual behavior plans and then,  _mere seconds after that_ , blatantly said to me that you  _never said you were going to do anything to them_. And then, you tried to pass your threat off as humor.
> 
> “You keep offering to tag your humor for me, so I know it when I hear it. You never have gone through with this offer, even though I’ve told you I want you to. This is because you don’t actually want me to know when you’re joking, because you would have to reveal that so very often when you tell me you are ‘just being facetious,’ you aren’t. You mean it, and you keep meaning it until I reacted negatively, and then you try to deny it and convince me that  _I_  am at fault for not interpreting it correctly. Your offer to identify your humor up front isn’t a real offer—it’s patronizing me, and an attempt to characterize me as hopelessly unable to recognize humor, to cover up the fact that  _you_  falsely claim that you were ‘just joking’ when you want me to stop being angry over your sincere statements.
> 
> “When I called you out for threatening the Constructicons, you told me to stop using the word ‘punish’—even though that was exactly what you had indicated you were thinking about doing—and accused me of painting you as a villain, and told me it hurts. Emotional manipulation. Guilt-tripping. You were trying to paint me as overreacting and shame me into dropping the topic. You didn’t care whether it bothered me. It bothered  _you_  and therefore I should stop.
> 
> “After you watched me masturbate, you commed me and asked if I was busy, and then  _immediately_  accused me of  _lying_  to you about being busy before I had said a single word. You threatened to repeatedly harass me until I answered your call. You did this before I even had a chance to answer.
> 
> “You attributed  _your_  words that we were ‘leaving things vague’ to  _me_  so that you could criticize me for what you said. You said that my desire to do this relationship ‘properly and in order’ was  _dross_. You accused me of ‘lying to myself’ because you suspected I was going to give an answer you didn’t like. You can’t conceive of the fact—or don’t want to accept the fact—that when I  _am_  honest with myself, I might not want to give you what you want. You accused me of being incapable of irrationality, to try to shut me down from using it as an explanation for my behavior—despite the fact that in  _other_  conversations you frequently imply I’m being irrational when you dislike what I’m saying. I said, over and over, that I did not want to have that conversation. You didn’t listen to me. You kept pushing me.
> 
> “You questioned my decisions and conclusions—suggested that they were wrong, trying to persuade me that I should listen to you simply because there was a chance I wasn’t 100% correct, trying to tell me I was inhibiting myself—because  _you_  didn’t agree with my decisions. You didn’t care about helping me be ‘correct’—you wanted to make me  _doubt_  myself and my own judgment so you would get what you wanted out of me. You accused me, again, of being dishonest, because I wasn’t giving you the answer you wanted.
> 
> “You said, as if you know how I think, that I couldn’t possibly prefer acting with rationality and forethought over throwing caution to the wind—this, in the very same conversation where you said I was incapable of irrationality—and you denied it because  _you_  didn’t want me to act with rationality. I had to  _explain how my brain works_  to you just to get you off my case, which is none of your business and not something I should have to do just to get someone to stop questioning my decisions. And the moment I did, you started describing the way I work as inefficient and inhibited. You criticized  _the way I think_ —the basis of the person I am. Because you didn’t like the answer I gave you. And then, when I had to tell you  _yet again_  that I didn’t want to have this conversation, you got sarcastic. 
> 
> “You force me to qualify my apologies for you. You tell me I don’t mean them unless I give them on your terms, and unless they’re accompanied by the exact behavior you want me to display.
> 
> “During that Christmas fiasco, I had to tell you  _four times_  that I didn’t want a gift before you listened and agreed not to give me one. Four. You didn’t even  _start_  listening to me until I started screaming. What you wanted to do to me mattered more to you than what I wanted for myself. And again—again, after all that—you backtracked and resumed trying to push the gift on me. Four more times. Then you accused me of being unfair for not wanting a gift. And then—after I had told you  _eight times total_  that I didn’t want a gift and didn’t want to know—you said ‘ _too bad_ ’ and tried to tell me anyway, undoubtedly in an effort to try to weaken my resolve not to accept it. When I hung up on you and switched to text,  _you tried to drop hints about what it was_. Nine times you tried to push a gift on me, even when every single time I said I do not want it. Again, you tried to steamroll over me to get what you wanted. Again, you ignored what I said. Again, you acted like my consent was optional, a ‘useless argument’ for you to get through.
> 
> “You admitted to me that you’re willing to lie to me and then make up data to support the lie until I get so tired of arguing with you and unraveling your falsehoods that I, in your words, ‘quit pestering you.’ You said that would be a ‘success.’ You see success as lying to me and then talking me in circles so long you exhaust me. Then you immediately denied it and tried to minimize your claims, by saying that talking me into submission is a means to  _further the conversation_. As though whatever hypothetical conversation we’d be having is more important than letting me be an equal partner—than letting me participate without deliberately draining me of all my mental energy. And then, when I didn’t like that—for good reason—you accused me of being unfathomable. Trying to turn the conversation around on me to make me look as though I was unreasonable and mysterious for objecting to the idea that you want to lie to me and then talk me into submission.
> 
> “You accused me of defaulting to assuming the worst about you. You accused me of conflating you with your alternate. You weren’t willing to consider that your behavior— _all of the above_ —is why I’m wary about your motives and actions. You minimized what you’ve done by saying you made a ‘negative overall first impression,’ thus brushing off everything else you’ve done since then. You said that it ‘didn’t compute’ for you, thus trying to say that my wariness around you doesn’t make sense, thus trying to shift responsibility  _to me_  for being irrational or overreacting rather than accepting responsibility that your behavior has caused my wariness.
> 
> “You accused me of using my concerns over your alternate’s alliances as an  _excuse_  to interrogate you, despite the fact that  _you know_  that I asked you no questions that did not directly relate to your present and possible future allegiances. You—said  _multiple_  things, while we were talking in the aftermath of your interrogation. I am willing to set them aside. You were right to be angry with me, and it’s understandable that you would make unreasonable accusations against me because of it. But it still fits into an overall pattern of disrespect toward me. The things you did in that conversation are things you have done to me over and over, not just when you were angry and hurt and tired. … You were actually less disrespectful when you were furious with me than you are in an average conversation when you’re trying to get something out of me.
> 
> “You repeated a claim you’d made weeks earlier—that you deserve to have access to information about my interior life if you’ve decided it’s relevant to yourself. After I told you we weren’t going to discuss the subject in question, you agreed—and then bombarded me with more questions about the same subject.
> 
> “You again tried to emotionally manipulate me into giving you what you want, by saying not answering your questions was a form of ‘starving’ you and you’d get ‘desperate.’ You argued, and argued, and argued, that I am socially obligated to provide your entertainment. You argued that  _by agreeing to socialize with you I am agreeing to cater to your demands for stimulation_. You then tried to backpedal and say that the obligation is not ‘coerced,’ when this exchange started because you were trying to use this argument to coerce me into giving up information I didn’t want to in order to satisfy your curiosity.
> 
> “The moment I showed you the blueprints I was working on, you dismissed the opinions and expertise of all the other people I’d been consulting, dismissed my opinions on my work and how to go about it, portrayed yourself as knowing more about how to go about construction than Constructicons, and started trying to ‘correct’ the blueprints I’ve spent weeks working on. You criticized the way I chose to go about learning, saying I am ‘smarter than this’—which is your way of telling me that I’m being stupid. If you were actually respecting my intelligence, you’d respect it enough to accept that perhaps I know what I’m doing.
> 
> “You tried to request that you help teach me, because you think you know more than me in a subject that I’ve been studying extensively for months  _and_  have been receiving instruction in from experts in the field. Whenever I do something that you disagree with, you think that I’m inherently misguided and that it’s your duty, perhaps even your right, to  _correct_  me. You cannot or will not accept the possibility that perhaps my perspective is valid if it’s different from yours.
> 
> “In this very discussion, you tried to stipulate that in order for one person to ask the other a question about his background, the first person must be obligated to answer the same question, so that you could manipulate me into handing out more information about myself than I want to.
> 
> “And here we are at the present. Just a few minutes ago, you said you didn’t understand why ‘respect’ was a bulletpoint in this discussion. You said you thought it was understood. You said you admitted to, and I quote, ‘not respecting a particular boundary in the past’—as though it were only one—but you’ve apologized and refrained from repeating it—as though you don’t repeatedly violate the same boundaries in a multitude of ways. You indicated that you were unaware anything else was going on. Now you’re aware of what else is going on:
> 
> “You lie to me, manipulate me, gaslight me, guilt-trip me, badger me, blame me for your behavior, paint me as irrational or paranoid or foolish when I don’t give you what you want, tell me you’re entitled to pieces of my body and memories, think my consent is an inconvenience to you, act like my boundaries are a burden, try to wear down my defenses with repeated arguments and with deliberate nonsense designed to make me shut up and give in, treat me like I’m ignorant and you’re here to correct me—and at the end, you act like you didn’t. And considering many of the things you’ve said to me where you hint at your own manipulative practices, I doubt you’re as unaware as you claim. You just want to deny it, in hopes that I’ll be unable or unwilling to call you out. You want to exhaust me into giving in and accepting the way you define reality around you.
> 
> “So, in conclusion, you do not respect me. You admire me. You adore me. You like how smart I am—except when I disagree with you. You enjoy the inventive ideas I give you. You call me precious, and perfect, and claim you’ll give me anything I want. But you’ve never shown me respect.
> 
> “You call me your muse. You want me to inspire you. That’s all you want from me. You don’t want us to be equal. You don’t see us as equal. You don’t want to give me what I want on my terms, only on yours. You see yourself as entitled to all the goods I can give you, and you think that if you do the right things long enough—obey enough rules, meet enough demands—that you will automatically  _deserve_  to get whatever else you want from me, regardless of how I feel about it. And despite all that, you think you’re good to me. You’re probably telling yourself  _right now_  that you’re good to me, and that every time you trample all over my boundaries, it’s for my own good.
> 
> “Right now, you’re trying to earn the right to get whatever you want. That’s why you’re sitting here, obeying the rules and listening to my demands. And I know that you know that, because at one point you admitted it, when you did something I liked and then I said I ought to give you what you wanted in exchange to  _reinforce the behavior_.
> 
> “Tarantulas—I am scared of how you’ll treat me and what you’ll do to me when you’ve decided you’ve done  _enough_ , and you’ve earned the right to take whatever you want. I’m scared of  _you_.”
> 
> There. It was done. He was done. His shoulders sagged, his back hunched, and his vents whooshed out. Now please, please, please listen.
> 
> A moment of silence, so Prowl could recover—he’d spoken like a prosecutor listing crimes, but he felt like a defendant. A moment of silence for the last echoes of his words— _I’m scared of you_ —to fade from his own mind.
> 
> And then he remembered Tarantulas was waiting for permission to speak. “… I’m done now.”

Tarantulas

> Yes, Prowl, Tarantulas _had_  been listening - although the motives behind it were questionable. He’d toyed with the idea of tuning Prowl out in order to preserve his own mental stability, but then he’d miss the details of what Prowl was accusing him of and would inevitably say something that indicated he hadn’t listened in the first place. So - he paid attention.
> 
> This time, Tarantulas tried to take everything in stride. Look away, keep your head down, claws in your lap. Don’t act  _overly_  contrite, but steer clear of sullenness, frustration, or any strong emotion. You’ll thank yourself later.
> 
> He managed to keep that up for quite some time, not letting any tension show, keeping his movements to a minimum, acting how he thought Prowl would want him to act. It helped that his chorus of No’s had turned into a drone of Yes’s - yes I am, yes I did, yes you’re right, yes Prowl, yes. If he passively accepted what Prowl was saying, he found he could just… let it roll right off.
> 
> Until the very end. He could accept and justify specific instances, but the final litany of offenses was just so - so _heavy_. Like getting hit by a freight train at full speed. And he couldn’t deny any of it, neither to Prowl nor to himself - but at the same time, he didn’t want to say ‘yes’ anymore, either. He was starting to get _sick_  of it, actually… Well. _Well_ then. Alright. This was - _no_ , but - maybe if -
> 
> ** No. **  Process it later. Keep your visor dim. _Stay calm_.
> 
> Said visor might have flickered when Prowl claimed to be _afraid_. He - what? Prowl was afraid - of Tarantulas? …Of _course_  he was. It only made sense, after all that he’d accused him of. Whether that fear was justified or not was, in Tarantulas’ mind, still up for debate.
> 
> He stayed quiet until Prowl allowed him to speak, and even then, the silence lingered. When Tarantulas finally spoke, his voice was hushed like before, but lacking emotion entirely - _dead_ , even. Defeated.
> 
> “I… have reasons for every one of the instances you listed. I’m not… not about to list them all, not about to parry or refute. You likely would disagree with my motivations, and you’re probably _right_ in doing so. But… I’d just like it to be known. I thought… I…”
> 
> A claw came up to his face, rubbing slightly. He couldn’t quite finish the sentence without saying something Prowl would take offense to. He probably _already_ offended him. But what could he even say, in the face of all this? ‘Sorry’ - as if that would cover it? He - well, he probably should say it anyway. It seemed appropriate.
> 
> But first, another thought floated into his head. It made him cringe slightly, then droop, head hanging low. 
> 
> “I don’t… understand why you’d… why do you even _interact_ with me, then? If I’m so… so despicable… why wouldn’t you just be done with it? Find some way to get rid of me?”

Prowl

> Well. He’s not angry. He’s not attacking. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything’s sunk in yet. It might just mean he’s acting contrite to try to make Prowl think he’s going to change. And he’ll pick his old behaviors right up again when he’s convinced Prowl’s convinced he’s safe.
> 
> “Of course you have motivations,” Prowl said. “You’re not a random number generator that accidentally spat out abusive behavior. You had motivations. Your motivations are based on getting what you wanted from me, on controlling me, on making me easier to control. They are based on dismissing my autonomy and my opinions, and on the belief that you know better than me on all matters and so when we disagree it’s up to you to ‘correct’ me.”
> 
> Why did Prowl not run Tarantulas off? A deep vent in, and a deep sigh. Prowl wondered if Tarantulas even knew what he was asking. “Because you have virtues that are worth keeping if your vices can be corrected,” Prowl said. “More importantly, though—you’re deflecting. You haven’t directly admitted any wrongdoing yet, much less apologized. Already you’re claiming—softly, but all the same—that you have _reasons_  for treating me the way you do; you’re framing your and my opinions of your behavior as a mere disagreement; and you’re trying to redirect the conversation away from your blatant and systematic disrespect toward me and instead to my feelings and opinions on you.
> 
> “Right now, you _look_  contrite. You _look_  humble. I don’t know if it’s because you feel that way or because you think I want you to look that way. But you’re already doing the same things you always do. If you don’t make an effort to change, in a month you’re going to remember saying ‘you would disagree with my motivations’ but willfully forget that you said ‘you’re probably right in doing so.’”

Tarantulas

> _ Abusive _ . Abusive behavior - which comes from abusers. Prowl was calling him an _abuser_. He’d spent more than a half hour laying out the reasons how, and now he’d finally said it in a way that Tarantulas just, apparently, in a snap - Tarantulas couldn’t _think_. His mind went blank.
> 
> It didn’t matter that Prowl thought he had virtues in spite of his vices. He also thought that Tarantulas was an abuser - and that took precedence. Not only that, but he probably considered him a _conscious_ abuser. _Was_  he? What was he doing? What did it mean? What about _now_? Yes, or no? Which chorus should he drown himself in, what ringing tone?
> 
> It was all just static. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to admit anything, to apologize. _But you’re already doing the same things you always do._  What was he **doing**. He wasn’t - he _wasn’t_.
> 
> Back in the tangible world, what he was ‘doing’ was absolutely nothing. He’d frozen, motionless, staring at the ground. Maybe a spider limb would curl every once in a while, maybe a tiny shiver would ripple through him, but everything else was stalled just like his processor.
> 
> Eventually Tarantulas reset his vocalizer. The voice that came out this time was even fainter than before. “…What… do you…” **Nope**. Stop.Bad. Try again. “…What should I… what am I supposed to…”

Prowl

> Prowl waited, quietly, for Tarantulas to—do something. But there was _nothing_. It was like he’d temporarily shut down.
> 
> Prowl was willing to, tentatively, predict that that was a good sign. But the probability wasn’t high enough.
> 
> A good question. Prowl laced his servos together as he thought. “… First, you have to understand that what you’re doing is wrong. Not ‘wrong’ in the sense that it won’t get you what you want, but—wrong _to me_. And—that will probably require learning, on your own. If it isn’t something you already  _viscerally_  feel and understand, it’s something you’re going to have to teach yourself.” That was a start.
> 
> “Behavior like you’ve demonstrated—the root of the problem isn’t the behavior itself. The root is whatever attitudes you have—about me, about other people in general—that… that make you think that it’s acceptable to treat someone you care about this way. It’s a worldview you have to modify.”
> 
> Prowl shrugged awkwardly. “I can’t give you all the answers right now. But, it starts with respect. Real respect. Not just admiration.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s words pricked at Tarantulas like needles, just barely penetrating the mental static - but they did. And just like any injury, it might take a moment, but eventually the energon _will_  swell and bleed out somehow.
> 
> _ Wrong - viscerally - root of the problem - worldview - have to modify -  _
> 
> Tarantulas’ shoulder twitched. Was it really…? But that’s what Prowl _would_  say if it were true, which it _wasn’t_ necessarily, jury was still out -
> 
> “I _can’t_.” Choked, still spoken to the floor. “It’s not - not - _n-no_.”
> 
> As soon as he said the word aloud, the buzzing, cacophonous denial started echoing in his mind again. But was it denial of the truth, or denial of false accusations? He couldn’t be sure, although - what did it matter what was _true_? All that mattered was what Prowl thought, and obviously Prowl thought Tarantulas was - was -
> 
> Tarantulas forcibly offlined his visor, as if that would cut off the train of thought. So - Prowl wanted repentance and rehabilitation. Reasonable. Based on the given data, it was logical. Sensible. Sure.
> 
> “…I don’t mean… a rejection. I just need - time. Processing.” Time to viciously quash the flood of ugly emotions that was rising in his chest, that is. A little of it bubbled out anyway, taking the form of a tiny strange laugh. “Certainly you can’t - you can’t expect me to hear all of  _this_  and just - just -”

Prowl

> Prowl suppressed a flinch at Tarantulas’s choked outburst. Please, let Tarantulas be expressing disbelief at _himself_ , not at Prowl’s words. Please let it be fear of the task ahead of him, not outright refusal of it.
> 
> He _said_  it wasn’t a rejection. Prowl hoped it was true—and that it stayed true.
> 
> “No,” Prowl agreed, “I don’t. I expect that this will be difficult for you—whether you agree with me or not. I don’t think this will be fast.” He hoped it wasn’t fast, anyway. If it was, that would mean Tarantulas had brushed off everything Prowl said and justified it all away.
> 
> He waited for Tarantulas to say something else. It would be dangerous to shove any more on him just yet. Much more and he risked making Tarantulas mentally shut down and fail to absorb anything else.

Tarantulas

> A little more laughter. “No, no, it _won’t_  be fast.” Not that he knew what it _was_  that wouldn’t be fast, but then again, figuring that out was part of the process.
> 
> Tarantulas was thankful for the following silence - not that there was silent in his mind per se, but still. He took the moment to vent, to stretch and shudder slightly, to make a floundering attempt at normalcy, as if he hadn’t just been called out as an _emotionally manipulative abuser_. In the face of all that - all the evidence, the analysis, the purported facts Prowl had proposed - what was there to even say? He had nothing. So, he said nothing.
> 
> It’d be up to Prowl where this went next. Tarantulas was in a daze, rubbing his face with both claws - maybe he’d _already_ mentally shut down against whatever else Prowl was bound to throw at him.

Prowl

> That wasn’t a whole lot for Prowl to go on. Tarantulas looked tired.
> 
> Prowl sat back slightly. “If you want, we can continue later. This is a lot for you to take in. There’s no sense in forcing you through discussing more rules when you can’t fully process them.”

Tarantulas

> Tired… didn’t really cover it.
> 
> “ _More_  rules. You thought - you thought we - _I_  - had the capacity to cover _more rules_ after **this**. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I - I _can’t_.” A lowered head-shake.
> 
> “I’m… hyah. Now I’m highly amused I asked for _time_ at the outset… I’ll cash in that rain check, thank you.” A flicker of yellow light on the floor as his visor came back to life. “…How much is it _worth_ , pray tell?”

Prowl

> “I didn’t think we’d… get all the way into this now.” A shrug. “I thought that you would enthusiastically agree, we’d move on, and then in a couple of weeks I’d have to tell you that you weren’t demonstrating respect and we’d have to have this conversation _then_. But you asked why we needed that rule, and asked if you were missing anything, so…” Prowl shrugged again. “You seemed open to having it now. And I thought it was better to have this conversation sooner rather than later, if the option was open.”
> 
> A twitch at Prowl’s lips. “It’s worth calling it quits for the day, if you need to. I wouldn’t hold it against you. That would probably be wisest, to be honest.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas slowly raised his head as Prowl spoke, his gaze eventually finding its way back to the mech across the berth-desk. “So… you thought I’d… _hyeh_. Well then.” Prowl’s prediction did fit with the picture he’d painted of Tarantulas just now, that was true enough. Maybe - maybe that meant the picture wasn’t… since the actual outcome…
> 
> A humorless laugh this time, furred shoulders rolling afterward. “A day, then… a _day_. That’s… I’ll take it. And I… I might just take that recording you said you’d make as well, if you’d be so kind.” He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do with it - but requesting it was what Prowl would want him to do, right?

Prowl

> He can’t completely tell what Tarantulas is thinking—but he’s fairly certain he doesn’t like it. “In a way, you did agree,” Prowl pointed out. “In saying that you thought the rule hardly needed to be stated and claiming you couldn’t think of any examples besides one where you’d been disrespectful, you _were_ agreeing that we should demonstrate respect for each other. You just agreed in a way that opened up the possibility of addressing these issues.” And Prowl was glad Tarantulas _had_  agreed. Better that he want respect and discover he wasn’t giving it, than consciously not want to respect Prowl at all.
> 
> “If you need more than a day, you can have it. I don’t mean to _limit_  you to one.”
> 
> Ping. Prowl sent the recording over. Please don’t use it to try to discredit every single claim Prowl made.

Tarantulas

> At this point, Tarantulas just nodded in acknowledgement. Prowl was probably right in whatever he was saying, but the words had started to float _over_  his helm instead of in through his audials. Technically they did process, but no important keywords were tripped, so… they didn’t really matter.
> 
> “I’ll… I’ll take the day and inform you before its end if I need additional time.” A tiny courtesy ping that he’d received the file, and some shifting in his seat.

Prowl

> Nothing he said registered, did it? All right. He supposed they didn’t have to worry about it right now.
> 
> Prowl nodded. “Very well.” What now? He felt like he should say _something_ else, but…
> 
> Maybe he shouldn’t.

Tarantulas

> What else _could_  Prowl say? Tarantulas couldn’t imagine any way for the interaction to continue, nothing else that was too pressing not to leave until next time, no goodbye that wouldn’t feel stilted and uncomfortable.
> 
> Shifting turned into an actual motion to rise from his seat. And suddenly - Primus, it felt so  _wrong_. Standing there looking down on the other mech, towering over him, backed by so many curled limbs and concealed guns, he recalled Prowl’s words.
> 
> _ I’m scared of **you.** _
> 
> Tarantulas looked away, trying to suppress a shudder. He had to go. He had to get out of here. This wasn’t - wasn’t how he’d imagined this going. His predictions had been generally unpleasant, but nothing like _this_.
> 
> He kept himself oriented toward Prowl as he sidestepped and retreated, preparing to leave. Unless Prowl said or did anything, it was obvious he’d be on his way.

Prowl

> “… Tarantulas.”
> 
> Prowl was looking down at his datapad, hands laced together tightly on his desk, frowning intensely.
> 
> “You are…” He took a deep vent in. “You’re… extraordinarily intelligent. And have an excellent work ethic. I am—convinced that you are capable of achieving… _anything_  you set your mind to. In—including getting better at this.”
> 
> There. Dammit. He lifted his laced hands to hide his face behind them. He hoped that would be encouraging, instead of undermining the message he’d been trying to send.

Tarantulas

> Just as he was about to transform, Tarantulas was pinned in place by the sound of his name. What - ?
> 
> _ Getting better at this _ . This. What was ‘this’? All the things Prowl had recited off in his litany of offenses? Their entire relationship, their interactions, all the _abusive_ things Tarantulas was apparently doing? His erroneous, malformed  _worldview_? Tarantulas was supposed to apply his intense intelligence to _learning how to be a **good person**_?
> 
> The compliments would normally have made him giddy, but no. Not when it was a backhanded way of - of saying - not when Prowl was telling him - no,  _labeling_ him - accusing him of awful things that he - why would Prowl even -
> 
> The whirlwind in his head was so overwhelming, he felt nauseous.
> 
> Unable to choke out a goodbye, Tarantulas rapidly unrooted and scaled down, escaping even faster than he’d done earlier. He had no idea how Prowl might interpret the hasty departure, but frankly, he didn’t care. He had to leave, had to be literally _anywhere_  but there with Prowl.
> 
> But -  _Prowl_ , though. Oh, Prowl…

Prowl

> Prowl glanced at Tarantulas as his exit turned into a flurry of movement. That was a bad sign. Prowl had said something wrong. He wasn’t sure _how_ , but he had. He probably shouldn’t have said anything at all.
> 
> Long after Tarantulas had left, Prowl remained sitting at his desk, laced hands over his mouth, processor fans clicked on high. Replaying his words to Tarantulas over and over in his mind, picking apart everything he’d said wrong and everything he should have said better.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intermission; Tarantulas soliloquizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: continued discussion of emotional and psychological abuse.

It was an entirely undesirable intermission.

First things first, Tarantulas forced himself into recharge. Nifty tool, having access to your own stasis and sleep commands – one of the benefits of having to rewrite your own base code. It allowed you to escape from situations like the one Tarantulas was currently in, at least for a while.

‘A while’ lasted for two hours. Nightmares in the form of snippets of Prowl’s lecture plagued him enough to subconsciously make recharge repellent, and his systems yanked him into consciousness once the first full cycle was done.

No recharge, and no way he could focus on anything else – that left him with little option but to dwell on what Prowl had said.

At first, he resisted listening to the recording. He hadn’t requested it with the intention of reliving the experience, but those snippets of Prowl’s voice were still haunting him so terribly that he felt compelled to check whether they were truly real, or if he was simply making them up just to torture himself. So, full of dread, Tarantulas curled up in his hammock, braced himself, and replayed the recording.

It was all real. Protoform-crawlingly, spark-searingly real.

The ‘disrespect’ was undeniable. Prowl had provided ample evidence to support his claim. The only questions left for Tarantulas to consider were whether Prowl’s extended analysis of the situation was factual, and whether or not it was abuse. Because that’s what Prowl had said. That Tarantulas was _abusive_.

So, to answer those questions.

He was… well. He did commit a fairly long and egregious list of offenses against Prowl. Most of it was summarized in that conclusive statement, one that Tarantulas repeatedly reviewed in his mind.

> _You lie to me -_

Yes, but it was for their mutual good, right?

> _\- manipulate me -_

Also for their own good. And sometimes for Tarantulas’ personal desires, yes, but isn’t that what everyone does?

> _\- gaslight me -_

No – no – misunderstandings.

> _\- guilt-trip me -_

Again, didn’t everyone do that?

> _\- badger me -_

Because he cared! And Prowl couldn’t blame him for wanting attention, he was just a little needier than most, that’s all.

> _\- blame me for your behavior -_

Nonono, Prowl just wasn’t seeing it right.

> _\- paint me as irrational or paranoid or foolish -_

...Previous argument retracted.

> _\- tell me you’re entitled to pieces of my body and memories -_

This was getting worse.

> _\- think my consent is an inconvenience to you -_

Harder and harder to deny.

> _\- act like my boundaries are a burden -_

Harder to justify why it was beneficial to anyone other than himself.

> _\- try to wear down my defenses with repeated arguments and with deliberate nonsense designed to make me shut up and give in -_

Definitely overtly selfish.

> _\- treat me like I’m ignorant and you’re here to correct me -_

But - not ignorant, just - they were learning together, right?

> _\- and at the end, act like you didn’t._

That - that was what Tarantulas had been doing just now. Trying to reinterpret and deny all the facts and deductive analysis Prowl was providing him. Granted, the data could have been delivered in a gentler fashion, but that didn’t make it any less - any less…

It didn’t make it any less true.

Tarantulas pushed boundaries, trivialized consent, insinuated violence and punishment tactics, hid aggression and other undesired intent behind ‘facetiousness,’ and tried to mask and minimize his manipulation when everything was said and done. He was an ugly, repulsive person who acted in whatever means necessary to get what he wanted.

And, furthermore, he’d apparently been lying to himself this whole time trying to make himself feel better.

So, he’d have to - _reevaluate_. Reconsider. Maybe - maybe it could be true. Maybe his initial reaction had been personally emotionally defensive, even the simmering indignation he was trying to suppress at this very moment. Maybe…

Maybe he _was_ abusive. Everything he’d just admitted… definitely sounded like abuse.

No wonder Prowl was scared of him.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas receives more time; Prowl receives a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: continued discussion of emotional and psychological abuse.

Tarantulas

> Eighteen hours passed after they’d parted ways - or more accurately, after a tiny spider had fled Prowl’s apartment. Tarantulas finally put down his work, his claw a little shaky, making the equipment  _cl-clink_  when he set it on the bench. He’d managed to get back to work for a while, but now - nope. No dice. He could only keep up the pretense for so long.
> 
> Not only that, it was pretty obvious to him he’d have to ask for more time. He still had quite a bit of thinking to do. So…
> 
> _Ping._

Prowl

> It was several minutes before Prowl replied to the comm.
> 
> When he did, he spoke quickly and sounded harried. «I can’t meet again yet. I’m in the middle of— This is my work shift, I can’t leave.» He didn’t know if Tarantulas didn’t know that, or if Tarantulas had willfully ignored it comm him at a bad time and catch him off guard. Please, please don’t be the latter. «I’m at the construction site for another hour, and transit home is half an hour, and—then I’d need time to gather my notes first, that’s another half hour.»

Tarantulas

> « _Oh_  - I… I apologize.» Of course he hadn’t known it was Prowl’s shift - he hadn’t thought about the possibility in the first place. He was considerate enough now to reply promptly though, wanting to get out of Prowl’s way.
> 
> «Don’t fret, I’m not - not ready yet. I’ll need about…» Scrap, how could he calculate how much time? Thinking, writing, sleep - what else? «…twelve hours at least. How does that work with your schedule?» 

Prowl

> Oh, good—he just hadn’t known. It was… thoughtless, yes, sure; but not deliberately manipulative.
> 
> «Twelve hours from now, I’ll be sound asleep. Is—twenty-seven hours from now, is that doable? After tomorrow’s work shift?»

Tarantulas

> More than  _double_  the hours. Chances are Tarantulas would spend the extra time stewing in his own thoughts and rewriting what he’d already have written. Not ideal, but if there wasn’t any other option…
> 
> «Yes, I could manage that. Do, ah - do make sure to give yourself time after shift. I don’t want either of us coming into this unduly stressed, if we can help it.»
> 
> A pause, and he added: «…Would it be a good or bad idea if I were to send you a message sometime before then? There’d be no need to reply to it.»

Prowl

> No, it wasn’t ideal. If Tarantulas was going to be ready in twelve hours, then Prowl would rather do this in twelve hours. But that would require either staying up seven hours past when he was supposed to go to recharge, or dragging himself out of the middle of a recharge cycle, in order to have what would undoubtedly be an emotionally and intellectually grueling conversation. «Yes, I worked adequate time to prepare into the proposed meeting time. And— _you_  won’t be unduly stressed, with that amount of time, will you?»
> 
> A pause. «What kind of message? Like an RSVP, or…?»

Tarantulas

> «I - don’t see why I should be.» That was about as close to ‘no’ as he’d get - Tarantulas knew better than to promise what state of mind he might be in twenty-seven hours, and Prowl knew Tarantulas didn’t know, either.
> 
> «No - likely longer than an RSVP. I’d call it a - a  _letter_ , for lack of a better term. It’d be preferable for me to write and send a few thoughts instead of waiting and forgetting what I intend to say - you know how it is, h-hyeh.» Not to mention he wouldn’t have to be there when Prowl read whatever emotionally fraught things he had to say.

Prowl

> That was good enough for Prowl. Who knows what can happen in 27 hours.
> 
> «… I see. Yyyes, that… that’s fine.» He dreaded what would be on it. Highest probability at 32%: a sentence-by-sentence rebuttal of every single point Prowl had made. But the possibilities were myriad.
> 
> Whatever it was, though—better to get it earlier so he could process it before the meeting.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave an inaudible sigh of relief.  _Good_. The less they had to do in person, the better.
> 
> «Much appreciated. I’ll… hmn. Might as well give myself a deadline to work toward - name your ideal time, Prowl?
> 
> «Otherwise I - don’t really have anything else to mention.» Yes, right. Keep it short, don’t inconvenience Prowl any longer than necessary.

Prowl

> Prowl’s ideal time was before he went to bed, so he wouldn’t have dreams about all the possible content and possible fallout from the letter. But if Tarantulas wasn’t going to be ready to meet by then, he probably wouldn’t be able to finish a letter by then. «By dawn. And, if you finish it before then, save it until dawn to send.» That would give him time to read it before work, and would minimize the odds that he’d be waking up repeatedly in the middle of the night and nervously check his comm for a letter.

Tarantulas

> Dawn. OK. Manageable. Probably more realistic than twelve hours anyhow.
> 
> « _Precisely_  at dawn? For Iacon, presumably?» Tarantulas was only half joking, given how often Prowl was unusually literal.

Prowl

> «Yes, Iacon time. No, precision isn’t necessary. Give or take half an hour.» Prowl didn’t take it as a joke, since typically he  _was_  literal. «I thought it would be easiest for you to finish it when you finish it and then set your comm to send it at a predetermined time, so you don’t have to do it yourself.»

Tarantulas

> «Yes, that’s sensible.» Even though Tarantulas knew he’d probably save it, queue it, edit it - wash, rinse, repeat, all the way up until dawn. Ah well…
> 
> «Unless you’ve anything else, you ought to be going, correct? Not that I’m shooing you off, but.» A weak laugh. He kind of  _was_  shooing him off, to be honest.

Prowl

> «Nothing else. You’re right, I should go.» A farewell ping.

Tarantulas

> Prowl got a ping in response, and nothing more.
> 
> The time from then until Iacon dawn passed in proportion as follows:
> 
>   * 20% painfully bipolar internal real-talk
>   * 5% angry sobbing
>   * 5% moping hiccuping
>   * 4% deliberate lies ranted aloud to self
>   * 10% work-as-escape
>   * 40% writing and editing
>   * 25% recharge (interspersed)
> 

> 
> Then, literally at the last permitted minute, Prowl got another ping, this time with a text file attached.
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Prowl,_
> 
> _I take responsibility for the total sum of my actions and their consequences as you detailed in our prior conversation. Your analysis of the motivations therein was mostly accurate as well. For all the offenses I have committed – I am deeply sorry, and I will endeavor never to re-instigate such circumstances. You have my sincerest thanks for alerting me of the situation; additionally, I am impressed by the fortitude underlying your honest, frank, and impartial delivery of facts concerning harm against your own person. This is no small feat._
> 
> _To clarify: I use the word ‘endeavor’ because I cannot in good faith promise that instances of manipulative or otherwise toxic behavior will never happen again. This is not due to any malicious desire on my part to act in such a manner – I simply know that I as an imperfect being am inevitably bound to revert back to old habits despite my best attempts to the contrary. Notably, this does not excuse me from fault; it merely explains my word usage above._
> 
> _Allow me to speak bluntly for a moment. Both you and I are aware that my nature is inclined toward unabashed selfishness – this heavily influences the majority of my decisions, and I see no sense in trying to escape that truth. As such, I will not deny myself the pursuit of fulfilling my selfish desires, but I **will** pursue that fulfillment through the healthiest possible means for all parties involved. I hope this is amenable to you._
> 
> _Please understand that, in all this, it was never my conscious intent to do you any wrong. I could sling about blame in so very many directions, but I shall refrain from doing so, for the sake of the respect I hope to foster on both sides of our relationship. For all intents and purposes, “the buck stops here.” Behaving in any other way would be incredibly disrespectful to you, your wishes, and your very dignity as a conscious being._
> 
> _Again – I am sorry, both emotionally and pragmatically. I shall, as I denoted, endeavor to follow a path rooted in infinitely more consideration and respect than I have shown thus far. As to what exactly that path might entail – this seems to be a key topic for us to collaborate over and mutually agree on. Naturally, actions are harder than words, but the terrible distance between the two is something that I **must**  eliminate, no matter the cost._
> 
> _For you, Prowl? I would do anything. Rest assured, this instance is no exception._
> 
> _Tarantulas_
> 
> * * *

 Prowl

> While Prowl had work to keep his mind occupied, he didn’t worry. But once the day’s shift was over, almost the moment Prowl sat in the transport to carry them home, he started worrying. What if Tarantulas blamed Prowl, what if he agree to change but only if Prowl changed, what if he wasn’t writing a letter at all but buying himself time to come to Prowl’s quarters and—and—who knew what? Something to twist him into Tarantulas’s idea of a more perfect obedient muse, something—
> 
> He tried to distract himself by working on his blueprints. It didn’t work. He pulled out his magnets and played with them until nothing but magnetic fields filled the calculations in his mind. (These ones were from Tarantulas.) He couldn’t keep that up once his hands went numb, though. He ventured outside his quarters/prison/home for the first time voluntarily in months, and quietly challenged the startled guards outside to a game of Fullstasis. Luckily, they hadn’t been warned by the guards in Starscream’s secret prison not to play games with Prowl.
> 
> It wasn’t until he was playing four simultaneous games against four different guards that he was distracted enough to stop thinking about Tarantulas. (All the guards lost. They were slightly awed.)
> 
> He slept, but not without nightmares. And despite his plans to let his comm unit wake him up when it received the letter, he woke up by himself a little over a half hour before dawn, and instead of going back to sleep, disentangled himself from the Constructicons and went to the kitchen, to sit and wait. Even at that, he still started when he received the letter.
> 
> It was…
> 
> Good.
> 
> Prowl read it three more times, slower each time, picking over every word. Yes. It was good.  _Too_  good, four million years among spies and liars told him. Much too good, years on alert for manipulators and betrayed said. He said everything he was supposed to say, the way he was supposed to say it. Prowl was relieved. Prowl was joyful. Prowl was frightened.
> 
> This was the best case scenario. Either Tarantulas had done some deep soul-searching, decided he truly was behaving disrespectfully and selfishly, chose to change, and thus meant every single thing he said to Prowl, or else Tarantulas had decided the most expedient way to get what he wanted from Prowl was to lie and pretend he wanted to change.
> 
> (Prowl fed the letter through a plagiarism detector. All clean. Okay, good. The probability Tarantulas was lying ticked down a couple of points.)
> 
> But even though this was the best letter he could ask for—he couldn’t fully believe it. It didn’t guarantee that this was the truth. He read the letter two more times, and was still no closer to deciding whether Tarantulas meant it, or if he was just the best liar Prowl had met in millennia.
> 
> Prowl supposed—a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth—Prowl supposed, for now… he’d have to give Tarantulas the benefit of the doubt.
> 
> After all, hadn’t Tarantulas given him a reason to?
> 
> Twenty minutes after receiving the letter, Prowl sent one back:
> 
> « _Thank you._ »
> 
> « _I do not expect you to correct all your errors immediately. For now, your willingness to change is enough._ »
> 
> « _We will work on this together._ »
> 
> « _I’ll see you this afternoon._ »
> 
> Was that good enough? He skimmed the letter yet again. The other points would be best addressed in person. And he didn’t want to risk going too far and saying something wrong the way he had at the end of their last meeting. That would do.
> 
> He sent the message, and returned to the living room to flop on the Constructicons for the little time left until their alarm went off.

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas wasn’t the best liar Prowl had met in millennia, that was for certain. The spider normally couldn’t lie his way out of a paper bag. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been decently deceptive enough to convincingly lie to  _himself_  - but that remained to be seen.
> 
> After he’d sent the letter, Tarantulas hovered nervously around his lab, picking things up and distractedly misplacing them. He hadn’t thought of what to expect now - a prompt response? A delayed one? None at all, until they met again? Suffice to say, he was startled when Prowl’s reply came in.
> 
> Startled, and  _immensely_ relieved. He hadn’t royally fucked up. Prowl seemed - grateful. Glad. And maybe - a significant chunk  _warmer_ toward him? The tone in which Prowl’s lecture was delivered had felt like a huge setback in that department, but this - this was almost  _actually_  warm, for Prowl. It was hard to tell since it wasn’t audio, but still. Maybe some reason for celebration.
> 
> A single ping back once he’d reread the texts, but nothing more. No reason to go about messing with what had seemingly pacified Prowl so much.
> 
> Then, with a little countdown ticking in the back of his head, Tarantulas proceeded to force-sleep the remaining hours away - half because he honestly needed recharge, and half to escape the new wave of anxious anticipation rising in his chest. This had really only just  _barely_  begun, hadn’t it…


	29. Rules Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion resumes; Prowl finishes addressing all six rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: this should be the last bits of emotional and psychological abuse content.

Prowl

> Prowl was never exactly eager to head to work at the construction site. But today, it was agony. Every second of the ride and of his breaks was spent preparing for the meeting he’d be having when he got home; he’d thought he’d prepared for most of it, but he hadn’t anticipated such a positive reaction so soon from Tarantulas on changing his behavior. He’d expected weeks, maybe months, before they reached this point—if they ever did. And suddenly Prowl needed a plan of action _right now._
> 
> When they got home, he headed straight upstairs to his desk. He had a couple hours to squeeze in preparations before Tarantulas arrived.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas, in turn, spent the time between recharge and meeting wildly hypothesizing what Prowl might be planning for him. He knew he’d brought something vaguely terrifying down upon himself by allowing a pro strategist to primarily dictate the terms of their relationship (on so many fronts now), but it was the only choice. Otherwise, he risked losing whatever scraps of trust he’d managed to scrounge up thus far.
> 
> Finally though, the time came to give up guessing and find out what actually lay in store. Tarantulas cleared his ventilation systems completely, then tentatively sent a ping and a comm.
> 
> «Are we prepared, Prowl?»
> 
> If given an affirmative, he’d proceed to port on over.

Prowl

> Prowl could have used another three days to prepare. But he didn’t have three days. He’d promised to meet with Tarantulas now, and so he was going to meet with him now. It was his own fault for deciding that the probability that Tarantulas would be willing to change this fast was too low for it to be worth the time to prepare.
> 
> «Ready.»
> 
> When Tarantulas arrives, Prowl will be waiting at his desk again, just like last time.

Tarantulas

> A strange panic had Tarantulas freezing inside the vents just before revealing himself. The past few days had been a rollercoaster ride, for sure, but none of it seemed so tenuous as this moment. Yes, he’d bitten the bullet and sent the letter apologizing and all that, but now came an even tougher part - backing it up _in person_. If he couldn’t convince Prowl he was honestly repentant… well. He was in for a literal world of trouble.
> 
> So, meek? Or more vocally apologetic? Brutally honest yet cooperative? Primus, he had no idea what to do. Might as well just get this over with.
> 
> Zoop, plop, resize, reroot - then he hesitated even more before actually taking a seat. He perched himself off to one side, clearly too tense to sprawl like he’d done before.
> 
> “…I… hyeh. Forgive me for not concocting some more elaborate entrance speech, but - how do we want to go about this?”

Prowl

> A moment of silence. And then Prowl said, “That’s a very good question.”
> 
> He looked over Tarantulas. Tension? “You can relax. I don’t have any lectures today.” He sighed, “I suppose there’s no point in asking you if you were telling the truth in your letter. If you were, you’ll say you were; if you weren’t, you’ll still say you were. So, I’m just… going to have to take it on faith that you meant everything you said.” Prowl hopes Tarantulas understands how agonizing it is for him to take _anything_ on faith.
> 
> “At this point, it’s more important to ask—what are you going to _do_ differently? On a concrete level. You’ve made a statement of intent. How are you going to make it happen?” Before Tarantulas had an opportunity to give him a deer-in-the-headlights look, Prowl quickly added, “If you don’t know yet, you can say that. I just want to know what thinking you’ve already done, if any.”

Tarantulas

> _ Relax _ ? The word got a little laughter out of Tarantulas, even though it surely wasn’t mean to. Counterintuitively, it _did_  end up relaxing him a bit.
> 
> That helped the following statement of “I generally assume you’re lying but I _guess_  this time I’ll pretend you’re not” sting a little less. Yes yes, Tarantulas lied often enough, and he knew what Prowl thought of it. No sense in beating a dead horse.
> 
> Tarantulas’ potential deer-in-the-headlights turned into a distracted glancing-off instead. “I don’t exactly have a plan of approach, no… I, err. Figured that ought to be something we’d assemble together - aside from the fact that I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to begin, hyeh.” A sheepish rub to his neck. “T-that’s not to say I haven’t spent plenty of time mulling things over, mind you. It’s simply - given _time constraints_ and _lack of expertise_ , and such.”
> 
> As a matter of fact, it was mildly irritating (embarrassing, even) not to have come up with a solid plan already. Tarantulas was supposed to be the one who knew how to manifest Prowl’s desires, not the _other_ way around. 

Prowl

> Prowl nodded slowly, musing over that.
> 
> And then sighed again. “I have… only a little bit more than the slightest idea, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his forehead. “So. Yes. I suppose we will be assembling it together. Or making it up as we go along, as the case may be.”

Tarantulas

> Oh! So Prowl didn’t know what he was doing either? Tarantulas had been operating under the assumption that he’d at least read up on the subject a little, but now, knowing Prowl was just as much at a loss? That not only leveled the playing field, it inclined it in Tarantulas’ favor. If he could propose something that sounded _somewhat_ reasonable…
> 
> Or maybe Prowl was just feigning ignorance in order to see what Tarantulas proposed first. Not entirely unlikely - but there wasn’t much he could do about that.
> 
> “Obviously not ideal, but if we have no other choice…” A minute shrug, and some thinking. “I could possibly come up with a - a _repertoire_ of sorts - behaviors and expectations - a hypothetical methodology, if you will. Nothing comprehensive, but at least it’d be a chance to assure mutual baseline understanding… It might take a moment to compose.” In a sense, he was offering to write one on the spot if you’d like, Prowl.

Prowl

> “No. Anything we construct without doing proper research first will undoubtedly be extremely flawed,” Prowl said. “And a repertoire of behaviors is… limited. You’ve demonstrated a willingness to use a wide multitude of behaviors to try to manipulate me; if we only address the behaviors, that leaves behind a million loopholes for you to slip through without technically breaking the rules, and then I’ll have to endure having my mind twisted around a million more times, and then we’ll both have to endure a million more increasingly frustrating conversations to renegotiate the repertoire. It’s best to base the rules on addressing the underlying attitudes, not the behaviors themselves. We'll—I'll—have to do more research to figure out the best way to do that.”
> 
> Besides, it was dangerous to leave the decision with Tarantulas; he was the one with the demonstrated disrespect problem, he couldn’t be trusted to come up with rules that would actually restrict him.
> 
> “Whatever we come up with right now will have to be just a simple, temporary measure.”

Tarantulas

> Alas - shot down. Not entirely, but Prowl still saw through enough of what was going on to tip things back in his favor instead. And again, Tarantulas could have done with a little less demonizing, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment. He _definitely_  couldn’t complain about it, given the assumptions were mostly true; so, he’d settle with just narrowing his visor.
> 
> “A flawed measure doubtless is better than none, but - your point stands.” A short sigh. “A broader temporary one, then? You sound as if you have _something_ in mind. Or - maybe I’m just projecting.”

Prowl

> “True, usually; unless the flawed measure sets a dangerous precedent that will cause more trouble when we attempt to fix it later.”
> 
> Prowl shrugged. “A broad temporary one may be best,” he said. “Although the best I’ve got is ‘be respectful, and I’ll tell you if you’re not.’ I don’t suppose you have any helpful additions.” Additions he expected. Helpful ones, he did not.

Tarantulas

> “That’s - fair enough. And sadly applicable in scientific study, among other realms.”
> 
> Subconsciously Tarantulas started to sink back into the makeshift chair as he mused aloud. “Hmn. This might sound trivial, but a - a basic definition of respect and some examples would likely help serve as a reminder of what it _looks_  like, instead of treating it like a vague abstract concept. And… I do wish there were some way to actually _prevent_  causing you harm instead of, well, essentially just letting it happen, but…” A sincerely frowning visor. Rarely did Tarantulas actually _want_ Prowl to be hurt by his actions.

Prowl

> “You currently have, in your possession, a half hour long description of examples that are antithetical to respect. I think you can treat that as a starting point,” Prowl said. “Fortunately, I _have_ been looking for a basic definition of respect. The most concise definition I have found is that respect is the practice of considering someone else's—” here Prowl grimaced slightly— “ _feelings_ before you act, caring about said feelings, and acting in a way that takes this consideration of their feelings into account. But I plan to continue looking for a better one.” Especially one that wasn’t dependent upon feelings. Specifically, upon the necessity of Prowl having to continuously disclose his emotional states to Tarantulas in order to gain his cooperation. And there was the danger that Tarantulas would take advantage of this definition to try to manipulate Prowl into doing what he wanted by saying that he would be distressed if Prowl didn’t and therefore Prowl was disrespecting him if he didn’t cater to his desires—he’d have to look for a better definition before Tarantulas thought to do that.
> 
> Prowl gave Tarantulas a faintly exasperated look. “You say you wish there were a way to prevent harming me as though it’s a difficult challenge. You have _willfully_ participated in behaviors that are _widely known_ to be harmful, and then denied to yourself that they’re causing harm. That’s like turning off your optics, running in circles around a crowded store, and then lamenting how you wish there were some way to avoid knocking the merchandise over. Harming me isn’t some unavoidable side-effect of interacting with me—you just have to turn on your optics and pay attention to where you’re going.”

Tarantulas

> “You can’t simply hand me a list of _bad_  examples and expect me to know what to concretely do instead,” Tarantulas said matter-of-factly. “It’s not as if I don’t have _any_ idea of what being respectful might look like, it’s just - in this case, double negatives aren’t positives.”
> 
> Huh. That was a fairly straightforward definition. Tarantulas wasn’t sure why he was so surprised by that. “But that - what’s wrong with this one?” You’ll have to spell it out for him, Prowl.
> 
> Prowl’s faint exasperation was reciprocated. “It - it _is_  difficult, though. You say all this as if it were intuitive, but apparently it’s _not_ , at least not for some. As if everyone _had_  optics, or knew how to turn them on. It’s an exaggeration of course, but do you see my point?”

Prowl

> “You lied to me. Therefore: don’t lie to me. You tried to gaslight me. Therefore: don’t gaslight me. You threatened people who showed concern for me. Therefore: don’t threaten people who show concern for me. You disregarded my privacy and my consent. Therefore: don’t disregard my privacy and my consent. The bad examples are a very good list of things not to do. Double negatives are absolutely positives.“
> 
> Prowl shook his head. “Too—imprecise. But it will have to do.” He’s not talking about the fact that he'e uncomfortable talking about his feelings. That would involve talking about his feelings.
> 
> “It was a poorly chosen metaphor,” Prowl conceded. “The point is, you—Tarantulas—you do possess the requisite tools, and the capacity to use them. You have just chosen not to, so frequently and so consistently, that you’ve fooled yourself into thinking you can’t. It’s easier for you to act like you don’t have them.”

Tarantulas

> “But you said it yourself - they’re things _not_  to do. What are things ** _to_** do? Or is respect just an avoidance of all the less honorable things one could do in a given situation?”
> 
> A noncommittal noise. “Well, if it doesn’t suit you, it only makes sense to find another definition. I’ll leave that up to you, then.”
> 
> Prowl’s following words somehow managed to wiggle into and widen the little cracks in Tarantulas’ defenses. He suppressed a discomfited squirm. “How do you know I _do_  have them? Whatever _they_  are, that is. It might just - might just be **me**. I mean - what was your Mesothulas like? Is that where you’re drawing your prior data from?”

Prowl

> “If you’re not lying, then you’re being honest. If you’re not gaslighting me, then you’re allowing me to perceive the world and your actions as they truly are, even when that’s disadvantageous to you. If you’re not threatening the people who show concern me, then you’re allowing them to continue to show concern for me without the fear of punishment, even if that means they might step in if they don’t trust your intentions. If you’re not disregarding my privacy and consent, then you’re acknowledging and respecting my privacy and consent. The opposite of disrespectful actions are respectful actions.”
> 
> A small nod. “I’ll let you know.”
> 
> Was the squirm good? Did it mean something was getting through to Tarantulas? “I suspect that you have them because you aren’t baffled by the fact that I’m upset that you’ve been lying to me, manipulating me, minimizing your actions, et cetera. Unless your entire letter was a lie, on some level you comprehend why your actions are objectionable. You have the tools.”
> 
> Prowl paused. “… And, if you _don’t_ —or at least, if you can’t learn to fake it so well as to be indistinguishable from the real thing… then we cannot work together.” He glanced at Tarantulas’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. “Right now, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. If my faith in you is not paid off—that’s the end. _I will not work with you._ I’m giving you room to work on improvement, and to occasionally make honest mistakes; but if you don’t start showing sustained, regular improvements in how you treat me, then it’s over. You can pack up and move on to the next universe.”

Tarantulas

> “Well, I wasn’t figuring - it could’ve been… That makes sense.” A slight slump. All of those positive behaviors seemed subtly unnatural to Tarantulas - all the more evidence that the inverse was just ‘how he _was_.’
> 
> More and more, he felt like sinking into the chair and pouting, or maybe even just shrinking down and disappearing entirely, but he refrained. All Prowl would get from trying to read him was an open, honest visor and the occasional twitching and fluttering of mandibles.
> 
> “I’m not _baffled_ , but what’s happened wasn’t something that was wholly _conscious_  on my part. I understand why you’d be upset, but… it’s - I can’t deny that certain behaviors and habits aren’t ingrained in me, even if I do have the tools and ability to act otherwise. The letter wasn’t a lie -” A hint of anxiety snuck into his tone. “- I truly _do_ intend to work on changing those behaviors. It just might be a - a struggle.”
> 
> Tarantulas’ visor subtly began to glow more intensely, parallel to the emotion in his vocals. “I want - I want to stay. It’s not as simple as just leaving, and that wouldn’t be what I want in the first place. I want _you_. This Prowl. **You**. I want this, I want us - however you’ll allow that to be, on whatever terms. You _know_  that. I’ll do whatever it takes. Any struggle is trivial in comparison.”

Prowl

> The corner of Prowl’s mouth twitched at Tarantulas’s resignation. He couldn’t help it—something about the way that Tarantulas…
> 
> … Never mind that for now.
> 
> “Now it _is_ conscious, and you can work on it,” Prowl said. “The fact that your current behavior patterns are ingrained doesn’t mean they’re permanent. Habits and beliefs can change. I expect you _will_ struggle, and I accept that. But I also expect you to not surrender and revert to your old behaviors just because it _is_ a struggle.”
> 
> Oh. Something in Prowl’s fuel tank fluttered; his spark pulsed and twirled. He looked down at his hands, trying to force his emotional reaction back into the little box it belonged in, trying (unsuccessfully) to dim his optics back to their appropriate level. “Then—if that’s what you want, then you know what you have to work on.”

Tarantulas

> “Painfully so,” Tarantulas admitted under his breath. If a twenty-five minute elaboration on the details of his errors couldn’t make him conscious of it all, then nothing could. “But keep in mind, you can’t expect me _never_  to slip up. It’s statistically inevitable - and no, I don’t have numbers on that, but you know what I mean to say.”
> 
> Prowl wasn’t the only one having trouble suppressing an emotional reaction - but at the same time, Tarantulas wasn’t sure he _wanted_  to suppress his. It was genuine, after all, and it couldn’t hurt to have that show through.
> 
> “On that note, am I allowed to ask - what… what do _you_ want?”

Prowl

> “I do expect you to slip up,” Prowl said. “But don’t you dare try to use that as an excuse. Don’t you dare use the fact that you might accidentally slip up to give yourself _permission_ to slip up every once in a while. It should be something you’re always working against. You should never say to yourself ‘I’ve been well behaved this long, I’ve earned the right to be bad this one time.’ _That_ would be evidence of a backslide far worse than any actual concrete actions you could take.”
> 
> Prowl’s expression went hard—not the hardness of anger, but the hardness of a mask, carefully concealing something underneath. “I want respect,” he said. “If I don’t get that, then everything else I want is completely irrelevant. There is no point in discussing anything else when I can’t yet be completely confident I’ll receive the prerequisite.” Especially since discussing it would give Tarantulas an opportunity to use it against him later. _Do you really want to throw me away over a few white lies and minor slip-ups, if you know that doing so means you’ll never get—?_ No. Prowl wasn’t giving him that weapon until he had evidence that he wouldn’t use it.

Tarantulas

> “But that’s -” Tiresome. Exhausting. Intimidating as hell. None of those things were what Prowl would want to hear, though, so Tarantulas swallowed the words before they could make themselves known. “I’ll - I promise to do my best to prevent and avoid disrespectful behavior, and in the case that I _do_  slip up, I promise to promptly rectify and rebound from any instances of - of abuse to your person. Does that sound appropriate to the situation?” There - you even got him to verbally admit the abusive truth of the matter in order to double down on his sincerity.
> 
> The hardness surprised Tarantulas, made his internals crawl in his chassis. “That’s… unfortunately reasonable. I can’t - no, _shouldn’t_ \- argue with that.” Some part of him knew he deserved the implied rebuke, given all that’d happened - and that part of him was viciously silenced. Too disquieting, too uncomfortable to entertain.

Prowl

> “What? Unpleasant? Difficult? You know how to hop universes if you get tired of it,” Prowl said. “A healthy relationship of _any_ sort, professional or otherwise, is not built upon people selfishly saving up days of good behavior so that they can cash them in for a day of bad behavior. Mistreating someone you care about is a harmful accident—not a reward.”
> 
> Prowl considered the promise, searching for loopholes. “ _If_ you slip up,” he finally said. “Treat it like a possibility, not an inevitability. If you treat it like an inevitability, then it will be more likely to happen. Self-fulfilling prophecies.” And it would be all the easier for Tarantulas to throw his arms up in a shrug and go _what did you expect? You knew this would happen eventually, you shouldn’t be so angry._ “Otherwise—yes, that… sounds appropriate.” For now.
> 
> Good, no argument. Prowl nodded. “That’s a conversation we can pick up again later.”

Tarantulas

> Minor indignation rippled through Tarantulas’ frame. “ _I’m **not** leaving_. I’ve said it more than once by now, and I’d appreciate if you didn’t throw the idea around so blithely. I’m taking this - you, me, us, this universe - I’m taking it _seriously_ , in case you couldn’t tell.
> 
> “And I understand the underlying bits, the consequences - I’m not _relishing_  the idea of slipping up, I’m just… neutrally accepting it, and attempting to convey the same to you. There’s no sense in lying to myself and saying it’s merely a possibility when I’m fairly sure I’m flawed enough to give in to something ugly at some point. Better to prepare for it and lay plans to mitigate and decrease the incidence therein than pretend it _might_  be a thing.
> 
> “In other words, I don’t see it as a _cheat day_ , it’s more like - like already having plans to go to an endurae ceremony where you _know_  there’ll be high grade. It’s a temptation you can’t avoid, one that’s that’s infinitely harder to resist than usual, and one you ought to assume the worst for, for the sake of planning how to catch your fall, _if_  - yes, if - you frag up.”
> 
> So, yes, technically Tarantulas was covering his aft in a ‘what did you expect?’ fashion - but that didn’t necessarily mean Prowl didn’t have the right to be angry.
> 
> And: “…Yes, we can, and will, hopefully.”

Prowl

> “You’re trying to reframe your disrespect for me as an addiction,” Prowl said. “First off, you don’t have an addiction. You have an attitude problem that makes you think it’s okay to be cruel to me, as long as it’s on your terms and you benefit from it. _That’s_ why I keep reminding you what will happen if you don’t straighten up—to remind you that you can’t benefit any more from your behavior. Second, temptation is not irresistible. Especially not for somebody who _isn’t_ an addict, which you aren’t. Third, even addicts do not prepare for a day they’ll inevitably slip up and fall off the wagon. They prepare to _resist or avoid temptation_ so that they _won’t_ fall off the wagon. If they’re making preparations to fall off the wagon by knowingly walk into temptation that they tell themselves they cannot possibly avoid, then they were never on the wagon in the first place. They were just having a dry spell in between indulgences.
> 
> “Tarantulas—right now, you are telling me that it is inevitable that you will be struck with an overpowering temptation to abuse me. You are telling me that there _will_ be situations in which you’ll be unable to resist the desire to hurt me. You are setting up the excuses that you think will let you get away with harming me again. _You are actively preparing to backslide._ That is unacceptable.”
> 
> A pause. “Fourth—I don’t know what conjunx ceremonies are like where you come from, but here they don’t involve high grade. That’s… really not relevant to the conversation, but I thought I might as well clarify.”

Tarantulas

> _ Panic _ .
> 
> “I didn’t mean _literally_  like an addiction! It’s - it’s a negative behavior pattern, that’s the only parallel I meant, I _swear_. It’s not even a temptation either, it’s a - a compulsion, not something I actively want to do, but something I implicitly think of doing that just - just -” Tarantulas curled inwardly, defensively, even as he gesticulated. “And I wasn’t saying one couldn’t _deny_  the high grade, I just meant they couldn’t avoid _seeing_  it around them, and knowing it would be difficult for them to defy - but not impossible - they’d have to -” His visor furrowed until it nearly disappeared, although it was hard to see with his head hung like this. Primus. He’d really screwed himself over on this one.
> 
> “I’m _not_  - it’s not _like_  that!” His head snapped up again, desperation in his gaze. “I’m just saying - if it _does_  happen - even though I don’t _want_  it to - I just want to make sure that you’re still  **safe**  - that there’s a net to catch you. That the harm is as minimal as possible. I don’t - I don’t feel as if -”
> 
> Tarantulas didn’t trust _himself_  not to slip up. He’d still make promises and dutifully attempt to abide by them, but try as he might, he still felt as if he’d break them no matter how hard he tried, no matter how genuinely he might mean the sentiments behind it all. It felt - _awful_. Disgusting. Yet another thought to viciously silence, another feeling to violently quash.
> 
> In a weaker voice, head turned away: “A - a hodgepodge attempt at a metaphor. Humans - I think - have alcohol at weddings. Something like that. N-nevermind.”

Prowl

> Did Tarantulas mean any of that? Probably not. It was probably just—blather, attempts to backtrack on misspoken words. It would do both Tarantulas and their efforts to communicate with each other a disservice if Prowl tried to respond to all those points as though they had been seriously considered convictions.
> 
> What mattered was the end. Prowl gave Tarantulas a long, hard, considering gaze. Did Prowl really believe that Tarantulas cared about making a net for Prowl? Or was Tarantulas making a net for _himself_? Prowl replayed their conversation in his head, looking for evidence of one or the other—and didn’t find enough.
> 
> Maybe that only proved Tarantulas was being more circumspect with his words.
> 
> “I’ll concern myself with my net,” he said. “You concern yourself with making sure I don’t need one.”
> 
> Benefit of the doubt, Prowl. Just this once. He lowered his gaze. Maybe Tarantulas wasn’t looking for ways to worm out of responsibility for future mistreatment; maybe he honestly didn’t think he could do it. “That’s… sufficient, for now.”
> 
> A small nod. Right. Recently Tarantulas had spent far more time associating with human culture—even distantly—than he had with Cybertronian culture.

Tarantulas

> Prowl wasn’t too far off - the truth lay between the two. Tarantulas doubted himself sufficiently to warrant him preemptively trying to worm out of responsibility for infractions he thought were inevitable. Not the noblest of motives, but he never claimed to be honorable in the first place.
> 
> Some hesitation as he forced himself to speak. “I - I - alright. I simply wanted to - mitigate, but I understand. I misplaced my focus. Prevention first.” But it seemed so _daunting_ , cripplingly so. What was it they said about asking forgiveness instead of permission…?
> 
> Tarantulas made himself relax, if only a fraction. Let the verbal scuffle pass - he could manage this. He just needed to keep control of himself.
> 
> “…If the promise is sufficient, then I - I hereby commit to it.”

Prowl

> “If you prevent doing anything wrong in the first place, then there will be nothing to mitigate.”
> 
> A small nod. “And I hereby commit to it as well.” This was, after all, a _mutual_  rule. Tarantulas was the one who’d demonstrated systematic disrespect for Prowl—but the months Prowl had spent holding Tarantulas at arm’s length, testing him without his knowledge, were hardly respectful. He was not going to hold Tarantulas to a higher standard than he held himself to. They would _both_  respect each other.
> 
> “Unless you need a break, we can move on to the next rule.”

Tarantulas

> A nod to the first statement. It was straightforward enough and logically true, but Tarantulas still wasn’t sure he could fulfill the ‘if’ clause.
> 
> It almost seemed like a farce that Prowl would see fit to ‘commit’ to the promise as well, but Tarantulas said nothing of it. It was hardly the time or place for commentary - he was on thin ice, and anything that could be taken the wrong way was automatically nixed.
> 
> Tarantulas cycled his vents, taking his time answering the implied question. Did he need a break? Probably. It was in their best interests for him to keep his cool, and a break might help do that. It _also_  might just make his anxiety worse. Ergh.
> 
> Instead of actually responding, Tarantulas mumbled something about cuddling and “probably won’t be received well” and “not exactly the best timing but then again” something something.

Prowl

> Yes, well, it was probably going to be easier for Prowl than for Tarantulas—but he wasn’t going to _not_  agree to it just on that basis, now was he?
> 
> Prowl waited a moment, listening to the mumbles. Replayed them a couple of times to pick up as many words as he could.
> 
> And then, silently, reached across the desk, holding out his hand to Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> Bless Prowl for not judging Tarantulas’ mumbles.
> 
> He hadn’t been expecting Prowl to respond in anything resembling a positive manner - in Prowl’s optics, he didn’t deserve it, did he? So he was a little surprised when the hand was offered, and took a second before he reached out to take it in both his claws.
> 
> Leaning forward over the berth-desk with his elbows holding him up, Tarantulas focused wholly and solely on the hand. So small, so seemingly delicate in comparison to the paws that held it. Feeling, focusing, Tarantulas gently rubbed and pet and manipulated the palm and digits. This was much, much better than sitting somewhere brooding on his own.
> 
> Belatedly, he mumbled a quiet “…Thank you.”

Prowl

> A small nod. He let his hand go limp, allowing Tarantulas to manipulate his fingers as he wanted. The pads at the end of Tarantulas’s claws felt so different from the fur.
> 
> After several seconds, he said, “You can sit on this side.” Tarantulas _had_ asked for cuddles.
> 
> And maybe Prowl shouldn’t give them. Not this soon, not when there were still so many doubts. But. Tarantulas had promised to improve his behavior. Right now, Prowl had no _concrete_ reason to think he wouldn’t. He could take a chance on getting a little closer to Tarantulas.
> 
> And he wanted to hold him.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas looked up from Prowl’s hand to his face - really? It wasn’t quite cuddles as he’d imagined, but he’d certainly take it.
> 
> Letting go of Prowl’s hand, Tarantulas took a good look at the seemingly immovable chair he was sitting in and the lack thereof on the other side of the berth-desk. “…There’s not really an optimal way to do this, is there…” But he got up anyway, nimbly rounding the berth and hovering momentarily at Prowl’s side.
> 
> Then he settled down onto the ground next to Prowl’s chair, tugging it at an angle so he could _try_  to nuzzle his head into the side of Prowl’s waist. Damn armrest though…

Prowl

> “Well…” He had rather expected Tarantulas to go for the obvious and plop down in Prowl’s lap. He supposed Tarantulas deserved points for _not_ doing that without explicit permission.
> 
> But this wasn’t exactly workable, was it? An awkward nuzzle in the side?
> 
> Prowl slid off the chair to sit on the floor next to Tarantulas. There.

Tarantulas

> To be fair, Tarantulas had refrained from lap-sitting because he was bigger than Prowl, not because he didn’t have permission - a different kind of consideration.
> 
> But no, no, just sitting next to Prowl wouldn’t do. Not enough physical contact, not with how Prowl was responding so well to Tarantulas’ advances. Reaching around to thoroughly encompass Prowl’s waist with his arms, he scooped him up and over into his lap, giving Prowl ample opportunity to break away if he so desired.

Prowl

> For a moment, Prowl almost resisted.
> 
> But Tarantulas was moving slowly. Moving gently. It would be easy for Prowl to stop this if he wanted to. So, he didn’t.
> 
> Instead, he leaned sideways against Tarantulas’s chest, wrapped an arm loosely around his waist, and dimmed his optics.
> 
> This was nice.

Tarantulas

> It was such a _rush_ , actually being allowed to pull Prowl close, even with everything that’d been happening - and moreover, Prowl seemed to _like_  it. Tarantulas squeezed just a little, trying not to go overboard with his affections. 
> 
> Both arms secured around Prowl, Tarantulas shifted around so he could lean against the berth while they cuddled. He _might_  have taken advantage of the movement to pull Prowl in even more, as if to trap him there in his lap.
> 
> A tiny nuzzle against Prowl’s helm, and an equally soft voice. “Is this a permissibly-arranged break?”

Prowl

> On the one hand, he felt a little trapped. On the other hand, he also felt secure. For the moment, maybe it was safe to focus on the latter.
> 
> And Tarantulas asked, to make sure it was alright. Good. He would have nodded, but his chevron would bump Tarantulas’s face. (They were so close.) “Yes.”
> 
> Why couldn’t they cut out all the unpleasant bits and just do this? Why did there have to be so much they needed to work out.
> 
> Gripe gripe, complain, complain. Prowl locked away his exasperation and focused on the fur against his chest and waist and thighs.

Tarantulas

> A pleased hum. Good, indeed - it would have been positively awful to have to loosen up or let go at this point.
> 
> Prowl was right here - he _had_  him - in a physical sense, at least. And they were in the process of negotiating rules toward ‘ _having_ ’ an alliance too, and maybe more… Because, well, cuddling seemed to insinuate something different than the lower bounds of a mere alliance, didn’t it…?
> 
> Tarantulas pulled his focus back into the tangible realm, unable to muse silently for too long. One claw petted in slow, small motions where it was hooked around Prowl. “…Are there any rules regarding physical contact on your agenda?”

Prowl

> “… Mm…” He had to pull his mind out of Tarantulas’s fur; his thoughts were getting a bit fuzzy. What else was on the list? Favors, dependence, lying, projects…
> 
> “Only obliquely,” Prowl said. “Nothing that directly related to it. If you want to propose something, you can.”

Tarantulas

> “Hm, I’d’ve thought you _would_ , but…”
> 
> Give Tarantulas a moment to arrange his thoughts and then he’d get back to you. In the meantime, Prowl would have to settle with quiet cuddles and gradually warming fur.
> 
> “…Are there any forms of physical contact that are impermissible? Or, hyeheh - hard and soft limits, so to speak? Or… ways I ought to approach things, like… well, how I ought to approach you in general, but also how to approach when there’s some form of physical contact I’d like to initiate? I’m not always keen on verbally asking. Words are so… they just don’t _capture_  things the right way sometimes.”

Prowl

> “Get keen on verbally asking. I’m not fluent in body language.”
> 
> A soft sigh. “You’re talking about things that would be covered under rules. Are we getting back to rules or are we still on break?”

Tarantulas

> A pause, leading into a low whine. “I have something to say on that - but first, can’t we just combine rules _and_  break? I - don’t want to let you go.” He punctuated the declaration with a light squeeze. Call him greedy, but it _had_  only been a few minutes.

Prowl

> “If we’re working on rules, then it’s not a break.” Prowl paused. “… I don’t see why we should have to get up just because we’re ending the break, though.”
> 
> He didn’t want to let go either. This was nice. Too nice. It wasn’t closeness in the way he _wanted_ , but… for now, at least, it was an adequate substitute.
> 
> Prowl stretched up a bit to reach the datapad on the top of the desk, turned it on, and propped it up against his thighs so he could type an addition to the section on respect. “You want to talk about the rule that indirectly relates to physical contact?”

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s allowance made Tarantulas churr contentedly. But - hadn’t Prowl said last time he _didn’t_  want to have them comfortable during the rules session(s)? Not that he was complaining now, but still.
> 
> “I think I’d prefer to address this small point, while I’m thinking of it - a comment on verbal versus body language. Of course, it’s possible to have more deliberate physical signals in place of words - sign language, chiro, that sort of thing. Not to say we’d use those, just something - _not_  words. Still a way to communicate consent, just… I don’t like verbally articulating it. It’s always either dancing around the subject or being tactlessly blunt about it.”

Prowl

> Yes. Well. Last time, he hadn’t been sitting on Tarantulas’s lap when he made that comment. Now he’s comfortable. … And weak. He’s very weak.
> 
> “What’s wrong with being tactlessly blunt?” Tactless bluntness has served Prowl well so far. Certainly far better than dancing around a topic ever had.
> 
> “If you’re differentiating sign language and chirolinguistics from ‘words,’ then I don’t see a problem. I consider sign language and chirolinguistics to be verbal communication. It’s not audible, but it’s still a language. If you’re differentiating sign and hand as different enough from speech that you can use them to convey your consent, then I see no problem here. You’re still being blunt, just in a different language.
> 
> “Regardless of how you communicate, though—I will be blunt in _giving_  consent, and I ask that you be blunt in _asking_  about it.” He tapped his datapad. “That actually dovetails neatly with the next topic.”

Tarantulas

> A small laugh from Tarantulas. “Nothing’s wrong with it - it’s simply not my _style_.
> 
> “And - yes, that’s what I mean to say. They’re all languages, but the _feel_  of it… I think I’d feel more comfortable with a physical interaction of consent preceding more of the same. That’s something we’ll have to establish though - it ought to be more one-to-one than implied body language.”
> 
> Tarantulas settled backward, doing his best to relax as they delved into what was sure to be equally sensitive subject matter. “Agreed. Within whatever parameters we define - that is, either vocal or gestured consent, once we figure out what the latter might look like. But - go on, do.”

Prowl

> “That’s fine.” Prowl said. And then stopped. And thought about it. And looked down at Tarantulas’s claws. “… Are you capable of sign _or_  hand?” The lack of fingers might be a problem. He knows there are variations of chirolinguistics adapted for mechs with empurata, but they typically involve at least a readable EM field…
> 
> He sat up a bit straighter as Tarantulas settled back; it pulled him away from Tarantulas’s chest a bit—unfortunately—but it made it easier to handle his datapad. “Third rule: neither one of us does anything to _or_  for the other that the other has not explicitly permitted. That includes benign favors and giving gifts. We don’t know each other well enough to know what sort of seemingly harmless actions might cause issues or be unwelcome with the other, so it’s better not to burden each other with surprise favors that could cause complications.”

Tarantulas

> Some more gentle laughter and petting from Tarantulas. “No, I’m afraid I can’t. At least not conventional signage. I found a few decent variants that don’t require digits, but the number of people I’ve met that’ve actually known any of them… Well, let’s just say I could count them on the hands I _used_  to have.”
> 
> Hmm… up front, the proposition sounded pretty reasonable, but one never knew… “Have you thought of possible unconscious or otherwise standing exceptions to the rule? And - _really_? Not even insignificant surprises like - like…” A sigh. “What if… what if the content of the gift were communicated beforehand, but the timing was the surprise?”

Prowl

> “I’ll learn.” Anything to facilitate better communication.
> 
> “ _No_ exceptions. Exceptions can come after we’ve been working together long enough to figure out what will be mutually acceptable based on experience, not unfounded assumptions. For the same reason, we don’t know what will qualify as an ‘insignificant surprise’ to each other. You thought shrinking to where I couldn’t see you was an insignificant surprise. I thought touching your abdomen between your legs was an insignificant surprise. Neither of those were received well.” Admittedly, Prowl had received his surprise worse; but he hadn’t given Tarantulas any borderline panic attacks he could cite as examples.
> 
> He considered the suggestion; then shook his head. “No. There are too many ways that could go wrong. First and foremost, the gift-giver might choose a time that’s horrible for the recipient without realizing it.” Plus there was the possibility that Tarantulas would try to promise a gift and then dangle it over Prowl’s head until Prowl did something to earn it.

Tarantulas

> Cue a surprised visor glance at the mech in Tarantulas’ lap. “Oh, I - I’m not actually fluent in any of the languages, but I suppose we could draw from them for our own purposes.
> 
> “I… That sounds sensible enough.“ Even if the thought of showering little gifts on Prowl was still appealing to Tarantulas. "For reference though, under the abdomen and around the optics are really the only undesirable petting areas. But that still doesn’t address unconsciousness - is there anything we’d be allowed to do without verbal consent in case of emergency?“

Prowl

> Then why did he propose them? Prowl shrugged indifferently. “Whatever techniques you want, then.” Tarantulas was the one who wanted to avoid speech, not Prowl. Prowl could adapt.
> 
> “In case of emergency, you comm one of my emergency medical contacts. I’ll give you the list. Although I can’t imagine we’ll be doing anything any time soon that won’t be within range of the Constructicons; you can turn my care over to them. If you have a list of emergency contacts, you can give it to me.”
> 
> He was silent a moment. “… But, if our emergency contacts can’t be reached… We can negotiate a pre-arranged list of authorized actions the other can take. Later, though.” Prowl already had a list that would only need slight modifications, but no doubt Tarantulas would need time to write one.

Tarantulas

> “ _Techniques_ ,” Tarantulas repeated, clearly amused. “All I’m after is a simple motion or two to express general requests. In any case - I’ll look into it.”
> 
> At the mention of turning Prowl over to the Constructicons, he bristled slightly. Damnit, he _knew_  he had to listen to Prowl’s wishes, especially since this point had been reiterated more than once, but _why_. Why. They may have a vested interest in him, but Tarantulas was far better equipped, far more skilled, far more _everything_. But - he said nothing of it.
> 
> “I - don’t have a list.” There’d be no one to put on it even if he did. “And protocols might be easy enough for you to articulate, but for me - hyeh. _Later_ will definitely be necessary.
> 
> “…Are you keeping track of all the things we’re ‘saving for later,’ by the way?” An afterthought, of course.

Prowl

> “Techniques,” Prowl re-repeated. What was wrong with calling them techniques?
> 
> Fortunately for Tarantulas, Prowl missed the bristling. It passed as a meaningless stirring of Tarantulas’s fur.
> 
> A small nod. “I thought you might not. I’ll wait for you to work out your protocols.” A wan smile, “In the meantime, you’ll just have to promise not to have any medical emergencies in my presence.” Har har.
> 
> “Yes, I’ve got a list. Do you want a copy at the end of the meeting?”

Tarantulas

> Nothing was wrong with it - it just sounded silly to him.
> 
> “Hyeh - I doubt that’ll be a problem. If I _do_ , though - you do already have the majority of my medical files, which is a good start. Most likely I’ll still be conscious anyhow, so I should at least be able to orchestrate my own repair. I -” Tarantulas suddenly halted. What would be reasonable here? What did he want to risk…?
> 
> The caution and deliberateness was apparent in his voice. “I reserve the right to retract this statement at any time, and this will be updated in my final protocols, but preliminarily I’d like to make you aware - you’ll likely have _solely personal_ and _highly_   _selective_ access to my medical ports in case of medical emergency involving unconsciousness.
> 
> “And - yes.” A hastily added sticky-note.

Prowl

> “Very well. You’re allowed to have a medical emergency in my presence, as long as you remain conscious for it.” … Is it obvious enough that Prowl is being facetious? He’s got a little smirk, that should make it obvious. That’s a facetious face.
> 
> He’s completely serious for Tarantulas’s next statement, though. A pause while he considers the implications; and then he slowly nods. “You have my word that, should I ever need to make use of that access, it will be utilized solely for the medical purpose of guaranteeing your safety. I won’t exploit the access too…” vague gesture, “ _explore._ ” Or whatever. “Do I have permission to pass that permission on to a qualified medic? There isn’t much I can actually _do_ with your medical ports that can’t be done better and faster by an actual medic.”

Tarantulas

> Believe it or not, the facetiousness _does_  come across. Tarantulas is more concerned with the serious stuff, though.
> 
> “I don’t just mean to prohibit _exploration_ , although it’s included, yes. I mainly mean to prohibit any sort of direct medical line to my person by anyone other than _you_. I don’t care how much better or faster a medic could interpret and utilize the data, I don’t want them to have that data in the _first_  place. There will be exceptions to this, but very, very few. Such as, you’d be allowed to pass on some sorts of information, but not others.
> 
> “So - I’m _very_  much hoping the circumstances don’t arise, mainly because it’d be slagging _complicated_. But I’ll draft something agreeable, just -”
> 
> Another halt. Ohh no, he’d have to think about this one some more.

Prowl

> “… Then you’re making me the only individual in the multiverse with permission to access your medical ports, in case of life-or-death emergencies where such access could mean your survival.” Prowl shook his head. “I… can’t hold that kind of responsibility over your life.”

Tarantulas

> Yeah, that was the catch.
> 
> Tarantulas seemed genuinely concerned, visor narrowed and angled off. “I swear this came about by exclusion instead of pointedly singling you out for such a responsibility, but - it seems the _rational conclusion_. I don’t feel remotely safe giving full access to anyone other than you - as awful as that sounds. I wouldn’t - I can’t force that upon you, but I don’t know what _else_ to propose.”
> 
> Admittedly, he did try to come up with other candidates offhand, but he’d promptly nixed the lot of them. (Untrustworthy, openly antagonistic, unaware, and too naive, respectively.)
> 
> Almost as an afterthought, he added: “…I’m aware that implies I’d be prioritizing my work over my own life, but - it’s just - you have to understand, it’s…”

Prowl

> Prowl shook his head. “No. I can’t accept that. If you want to give me sole authority over access to your medical ports, you also have to give me clearance to pass on that access to a trustworthy medic. I— _can’t_ serve as the only person with access to your ports. I will not do it.”

Tarantulas

> “I _can’t_. Unless you can name a medic intelligent enough to understand and work with my frame who unequivocally  _wouldn’t_  take advantage of the situation. Better to rely on my own backup programming and auto-stopgaps - I can always take care of myself post-crisis. I’ve come this far, Prowl. _So_  far. And I’ve done it on my own. Why should I need anyone _else’s_  aid? The myriad fallout scenarios - Primus, I’d really rather not even _consider_  them.
> 
> “I - I won’t grant medical access to you if you refuse the right, but I can’t -  _won’t_ give it to anyone else.”

Prowl

> “Despite your prejudice against him for not being you, _Hook_  is intelligent enough, _and_  he can’t take advantage of the situation, because he’s tied to me and I wouldn’t permit it. But I know you’re not going to believe that.”
> 
> Prowl shook his head. “What if the stopgaps fail? What if there _is_  no post-crisis? You need to let _someone_  qualified access you. What if you… made a thing? Something that anybody could plug into your medical ports to get the readings that a medic would need?”

Tarantulas

> “I’m - _not_  going to comment on Hook. _No_.” Why in the world Prowl thought to bring him up in a matter of Tarantulas’ well-being - there were so many things wrong with that.
> 
> Tarantulas brushed off the what-ifs, suddenly intent on the last idea. “If… well, as a _last resort_. With programming external to my systems to extricate the data and process it properly, and with its own firewalls on both uploading and downloading in _both_  directions, given who knows who could be hooking up, or what virus or bug could go either way. It’d be  - a _medical translating device_ , really. And its own security system, all in one.” There was a glint in Tarantulas’ visor now - a much better look on him than the nervousness or frustration that’d been plaguing him.

Prowl

> Prowl nodded. “There. That way you can get your readings out if you need to.” Pause. “… And you could make versions that aren’t uniquely tuned to your systems, too. Such a device could be useful for _any_  patients, and could protect medics from anything dangerous in their systems. There are similar devices already, of course, but you could undoubtedly make one that’s more secure, more efficient, and more portable.”

Tarantulas

> Of course, leave it to Prowl to turn a singular invention into some project for the greater good. At least he managed to compliment Tarantulas in the process, something the spider certainly didn’t miss or forget to cherish.
> 
> “I _could_ , yes… But I doubt anything I’d come up with would be universal enough to actually _analyze_  all mechs, and that’s not even speaking of multiversal ones. My personal device would employ a primitive form of my own diagnostic code, and that’s hardly something I can take samples of from a wide enough selection of mechs. Better to stick to improving on what’s already there, updating the code and downsizing the apparatus and its costs.”

Prowl

> “Why not? You could build the ability to analyze into the device itself. Make one for yourself first, of course, but I’m sure you could come up with something that would be useful for… uh…”
> 
> A moment of silence as Prowl realizes exactly what he’s doing. This. This is why it’s dangerous for him to be around Tarantulas. Prowl couldn’t even blame this one on Tarantulas himself, it was entirely Prowl’s fault. “Right.” He rubbed the bridge of his nasal ridge. “Never—never mind that. Shall we, er, consider this point resolved for now.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was about to explain diversity of OS and frame mods and something particular about CC’d bots but - nope. Heh. Now wasn’t really the time, was it.
> 
> “Hyeh, I believe so. Well, given that you add a note about this on the list you’ll be sending me - I naturally have more thoughts on the matter I want to flesh out.”
> 
> Realizing he’d ceased his tiny pettings, Tarantulas unhurriedly picked up again. “What might be the next point on your list, hmn?”

Prowl

> “Yes. Sure.” Mental note added.
> 
> Prowl glanced back at his datapad. “Honesty,” Prowl said. “Henceforth—no more lies, full stop. If one of us is asked a question he can’t answer, he says ‘I can’t tell you’ or ‘it’s classified,’ et cetera. No answer is better than a dishonest answer.
> 
> “Of course, the corollary we discussed earlier is in effect here: we cannot manipulate each other into revealing answers we believe the other doesn’t want to share by trapping each other with questions for which no answer _would_ be an answer.”

Tarantulas

> What could Tarantulas say about this one? Certainly there was nothing up for debate, no way he could openly spin a lie into a half-truth. Besides, was there any reason to? Might as well agree, even though it’d be a hard rule to keep to.
> 
> “Acceptable. Although - please, let’s be _extremely clear_ when we decide to refrain from answering a question. Equivocating, obfuscating, or otherwise trying to circumvent truths - of which, yes, I know I’m guilty - is almost worse than lying, in my opinion.”

Prowl

> “Agreed. If we’re not going to answer a question, we must be up front about it. I’m guilty of this too; this is a habit we’ll both have to break.” Prowl didn’t think dodging the truth was as bad as blatantly contradicting the truth, himself; but he wasn’t going to argue. As long as neither of them was going to do either, it didn’t matter.
> 
> “Anything else to add? Or is this point settled?”

Tarantulas

> Well, not so much “neither doing either” as “one doing neither and the other _trying_  to do neither,” but the difference was understood.
> 
> “Nnnnnno… no, I think we can continue. How many more are there left, might I ask?”

Prowl

> Hm. Easier than Prowl had expected. He’d half expected Tarantulas to throw in a pile of exceptions— _what if we have to lie for safety reasons? What if there’s a third party listening that we want to lie to?_ —et cetera. If Tarantulas didn’t want to quibble over improbable possibilities, good. “Two more, unless you have more to add.”
> 
> Back to the datapad. “Neither one of us is permitted to be dependent upon the other for all of his emotional needs.” Prowl looked up. “And to that I’m going to add medical needs, social needs, sexual needs, psychological needs, entertainment needs, intellectual needs… and alarm clock needs. Neither one of us is to be burdened with being the sole provider of something the other needs.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was starting to learn when to pick his battles, yes.
> 
> He seemed to zone out for a moment while Prowl was listing off needs. Yes, he could do that… yes, technically, yes, vague but yes, maybe, probably… And a twinge of dark amusement at the alarm clock bit. That’d been… a _mistake_ , to be certain.
> 
> “…Does that extend into more business-like arrangements as well? As in, I ought not be the sole provider of any given scientific-task need? Aside from that… oh, what does  _psychological needs_  entail?”

Prowl

> Prowl might sound calm, and he might even (possibly) be making a joke. But Prowl’s still angry about the alarm clock.
> 
> A pause, as Prowl parsed out the question and its implications; and then a sharp nod. “Yes. Obviously, if I’m coming to you for a project, then I would like you to do it. But I should try to ensure that I do not _need you_ to do it. I have to have other scientists that I can turn to to get work done, even if that means settling for… a lower standard of work. It would be unfair to you if I demanded that you provide work for me that you want not to do by claiming that I can’t possibly get that work from anyone or anything else; and it would be unwise and unhealthy for me to be so dependent upon the assistance of a single asset.” He’d made that mistake once already.
> 
> “So, yes, that absolutely extends to work. You can’t be dependent upon me for inspiration, and I can’t be dependent upon you for inventions.”
> 
> To the question about psychological needs, Prowl just shrugged. “I don’t know. I honestly can’t think of anything that isn’t already covered by emotional, social, entertainment, and intellectual needs. I’m throwing that one in to close up any loopholes I might have missed.” His optics flickered. “ _Physical_ needs. I’m adding that too. Same reason.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was almost sad he brought the topic of ‘business’ up - but it was for the best. Plus, it earned him another backhanded compliment.
> 
> “By _dependence_ , do you mean something along the lines of, I ought not automatically come to you for inspiration first? Or put another way, I oughtn’t lean on you for such a thing? It seems - iffy, at best, to try and term inspiration as something one could be dependent on another for. I anticipate I’ll still derive a modest majority of my inspiration from you, so I’m curious to feel out the boundaries.”
> 
> At the mention of physical needs, Tarantulas laughed. “I suppose that’s an important addition. You _may_ not believe this -” Sarcasm heavy in his voice, or so he hoped. “- but I’ve been known to forget to refuel on occasion. That certainly wouldn’t be your responsibility to follow up on.”

Prowl

> “By dependence, I mean you ought not go into withdrawal if I tell you to stop coming to me for a while. I can be your _first_ option, but not your _only_ option. We can get more specific later if we find that definition doesn’t work.” Prowl gave Tarantulas a sideways glance. “And you traveled across universes just to replace your version of me so we could work together. That doesn’t sound like inspiration dependence to you?”
> 
> Prowl snorted. “You _don’t say._ I would never have guessed.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas internally blanched at the thought of Prowl telling him to ‘stop coming to him,’ period. He knew that’s not what Prowl meant, but the thought - no. Prowl may not be  _necessary_  to fulfill Tarantulas’ needs, but he was definitely wanted. _Extremely_  wanted.
> 
> …Which was exactly what Prowl was keenly poking at, just seconds later. Tarantulas did his best to keep an unsuspicious tone and expression. “It doesn’t, actually. Your input isn’t _necessary_ for my survival, it’s merely - highly prized. I’d also like to suggest that ‘work’ isn’t the sole reason I transferred.” Prowl could take that any way he liked - Tarantulas had never really revealed his convoluted set of motivations before, and he certainly wasn’t going to drop solid hints _now_ , of all times.
> 
> At least Prowl did catch onto the spot of humor; that was appreciated.

Prowl

> “I didn’t say for your survival; that’s your word. I’ll _try_  not to read too deeply into that.”
> 
> Back to the datapad. “Anyway. Are we ready for the last one.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor squinted in minor annoyance. “ _Need_ implies _necessary for continued survival._ I’m afraid there’s nothing for you to read into.”
> 
> A sigh, and he slouched a little more against the berth. “Yes, I should think so. Go on.”

Prowl

> “Or, believed to be a prerequisite for a satisfactory life.” But if they were working with different definitions, Prowl wasn’t going to push it.
> 
> This time, Prowl relaxed, and leaned with Tarantulas. Tarantulas wasn’t going to like this one. “Before agreeing to do anything illegal, dangerous, or potentially harmful to anyone or anything, we will spend two full days apart to contemplate the idea. If either of us comes into the conversation saying ‘no,’ it’s over. If either of us comes into the conversation saying ‘I’m uncertain,’ discuss the proposal again and any concerns that have been raised and then separate another two days to consider it. Neither one of us is allowed to commence work on the proposed activity until both of us have agreed to it.” Prowl looked at Tarantulas pointedly. “That means no preparatory work, no research, no 'I didn’t have anything to do so I might as well have got started'—because the more labor that’s been invested, the harder it will be for the other person to say 'no’ and waste the effort that’s been put in, and that defeats the purpose of separating to consider the project in the first place.”

Tarantulas

> That difference in definition was bound to get Prowl in trouble someday. But - Tarantulas didn’t push it either, too distracted by the newest rule.
> 
> Meeting Prowl’s pointed gaze with a still-squinted visor, Tarantulas considered the rule silently. It was a while before he actually spoke up.
> 
> “What qualifies as ‘dangerous,’ or ‘harmful’? And why do you say ‘any **thing** ’?”

Prowl

> “If either one of us _thinks_ there’s a chance it _might_ be dangerous or harmful, it qualifies. I say ‘anything’ because potential property damage, environmental damage, et cetera et cetera counts, even if there is no identifiable individual who will be directly adversely affected.”

Tarantulas

> OK, so it was subjective. Good. Better that than trying to objectively define danger and harm.
> 
> “So the moratorium would commence once we parted ways after first thoroughly discussing the idea, correct? …And what would be the terms of the separation? No contact whatsoever, or a simple ban on the subject? And what of physical distance, or comm restrictions? Extenuating circumstances aside, of course.”

Prowl

> “Correct—after a thorough discussion.”
> 
> He’d debated with himself about that very topic. The idea of not talking with Tarantulas for _two whole days_  while in the middle of work…
> 
> But if the thought of not talking to him for a _mere two days_  bothered him so much, all the more reason that he should do it. “No contact whatsoever—extenuating circumstances aside. Neither of us will be able to use those two days to actually contemplate the wisdom of the proposed dangerous project if we’re distracting each other with more exciting ideas. Naturally, if we have no contact, then that covers comm restrictions—and considering that the circles in which we travel don’t really overlap, there should be no need to establish minimum physical distance.”

Tarantulas

> If Prowl thought that purposefully not talking to Tarantulas for two days would be hard… well. He could probably predict what that’d feel like for Tarantulas.
> 
> “As much as we both know I want to argue with this…” A sigh. “It’d be for the best. I merely mentioned physical distance for the sake of clarifying - I suppose silly things like sitting quietly in the same room would be off-limits, then. And social events… We might as well just assume I won’t be there, if a project is on the line.”

Prowl

> He has a rough estimate.
> 
> “Yes, it would be off-limits. It would be a frustrating temptation.” He leaned his head against Tarantulas. “If we both happen to go to a social event because we both want to be there, I suppose an exception can be made, provided we more or less avoid each other at said event. Although if in practice that doesn’t work out, we can renegotiate that point, too. But I suspect showing up at the same event will be a rare occurrence.” Unless Tarantulas started showing up at events he didn’t actually care about just so he could be around Prowl during the moratorium. One scenario that would necessitate a renegotiation.

Tarantulas

> Not an impossible scenario, but also not on Tarantulas’ mind at the moment.
> 
> “Given that it already _is_  a rare occurrence, we should be fine.” A shift and a vague nuzzle in Prowl’s direction. “Hmn… research, though - why is research forbidden as well? It’d merely be informative reading material, something more to center discussion around.”

Prowl

> “Because two days later I’ll say ‘I’ve thought it over, and I don’t want to do it,’ and you’ll do that— _sad_  thing with your visor, and tell me how much research you’ve already done, and ask me if I would at least listen to what you’ve found out. That’s why research is forbidden.”

Tarantulas

> A giggle at the visor comment that devolved into a rather wistful sigh. “It wouldn’t _hurt_  to have a little more discussion, especially if new data’s come to light. Banning it would mean you’d be advocating making a decision based on partial evidence - and when the new data could actually show unexpectedly massive benefits from the project at stake, I don’t see how that’s rational in the least.”

Prowl

> Prowl’s voice took on a hard edge. “It’s rational because when I give you an inch, we bomb civilians. A little more discussion _could_ hurt, and it could hurt _a lot_. I will risk being overly cautious on partial evidence rather than dare risk being talked into something I shouldn’t do.”

Tarantulas

> “You and _I_ didn’t bomb civilians,” Tarantulas corrected. “But I won’t press the point. I’ll focus my research efforts elsewhere in such a case, but do keep in mind I don’t entirely agree with you.”
> 
> Other than that, Tarantulas didn’t seem to have much else to say, aside from: “…Is that really it, then…?”

Prowl

> “I dropped a bomb. But you built a bomb that you knew was going to be dropped on civilians. It happened thanks to you, it would not have happened without you, and you knew that at every step in your cheerful participation. You don’t get to say you don’t share the responsibility,” Prowl said. “You don’t have to entirely agree with me. I know you don’t care about this rule. It’s not here for you.”
> 
> A moment of thought, searching for anything he’d missed; and then a nod. “That’s it. Unless you’ve thought of any to add.”

Tarantulas

> “I - we’ve already been over this,” Tarantulas reminded him. They had indeed, invasively so. “I do share responsibility, I simply meant that it wasn’t _you_ I worked with, per se. We don’t have a past, you and I. I - I’d prefer not to dwell on things that happened before we met.
> 
> “But yes, I’ll agree to the rule.” A bit of silence as Tarantulas mulled things over. “I… haven’t got any off the top of my head, but give me a moment and I’ll see what I can’t process up.”

Prowl

> “We have. I’m not wholly convinced it sunk in.” A sigh, “You-and-he and he-and-I dropped bombs, because of your-and-his and his-and-my work dynamic, and that same element will be present in your-and-my work dynamic if we aren’t careful. ‘We are not technically from the same universe’ does not invalidate the fact that we had a similar work dynamic with similar versions of each other. You are quibbling over the details to divert the conversation away from the point that I was _actually_ making.”
> 
> A nod. Prowl sat silent a moment. And then leaned his head against Tarantulas’s shoulder.

Tarantulas

> “That wasn’t my _intent,_ but-” Tarantulas stopped himself. No use arguing over trivialities - for all intents and purposes, they’d finally settled this, hadn’t they? Was there anything else…?
> 
> “…If at any time either of us does come up with another proposed rule, we ought to inform the other and discuss as soon as possible. Unfortunately I’m more likely to come up with rules as they become relevant, which is far from ideal, but…” He shrugged gently, trying not to disturb Prowl’s helm.

Prowl

> Prowl ran over the suggestion. “… No throwing up a new suggested rule to deliberately derail a conversation so we have to discuss the rule rather than finish the conversation. Unless the resolution of the rule will directly impact the outcome of the conversation we’re having, it should be saved until after the conversation is over. But that aside, yes, we discuss it as soon as possible.”

Tarantulas

> “I’ll attempt not to derail conversations for _any_  reason, for that matter. That’s something you can call me out on.” Hopefully it’d earn him a few points in Prowl’s book for making that admission. “And you as well - that follows from the earlier point about not dodging questions.
> 
> “…On that note, I _do_ have a question for you. It should be fairly easy to face instead of dodge, but you’ve shown discomfort surrounding the subject previously, so I figure I’ll pin you _now_  instead of later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cont. in next chapter, for readability's sake.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rules may have ended, but conversation remains fraught.

Tarantulas

> “…On that note, I _do_ have a question for you. It should be fairly easy to face instead of dodge, but you’ve shown discomfort surrounding the subject previously, so I figure I’ll pin you _now_  instead of later.”

Prowl

> “Naturally. We’ll both avoid that,” Prowl said. And paused. “… With exception for accidental derailments that we both agree are more interesting or productive than whatever we were originally talking about.”
> 
> A wary look crossed Prowl’s face. But, he nodded. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer it. But I have much less to hide now than I did before.” And he had told Tarantulas after his interrogation that he could re-ask the questions Prowl had dodged before, so.

Tarantulas

> “Oh - naturally, yes.”
> 
> Tarantulas seemed amused by Prowl’s reaction - what did he think it might be? Probably not what it actually was. “Oh, you can, and will. It’s not really a matter of  _hiding_ anything, hyeh - it’s just a matter of  _clarifying_.
> 
> “By the sound of our terms, we’ll be ‘allies’ now - but that’s only one facet of our interactions, you can’t deny it. Do tell me: where is our relationship now in terms of ‘ _doing things properly_ ’ and ‘ _in order_ ’? Your words, of course.”
> 
> A weak sigh before he added: “I… I’m aware that the nature of whatever’s going on has been affected by our discussion of my… disrespectful behavior, and  _will_  be affected by my behavior moving forward as well. I’d just rather have all of this out on the metaphorical table for transparency’s sake.”

Prowl

> A puzzled look. “What do you mean, ‘in terms of doing things properly and in order’? Our relationship is, at present, indeed being done properly and in order.” As far as Prowl could tell, that was the question Tarantulas had asked. With the convoluted phrasing, he didn’t think it was the question Tarantulas meant.

Tarantulas

> A bit of muted laughter and a squinted visor from Tarantulas. As much as he’d hoped Prowl would catch on with the first iteration, he was slowly coming to accept that dancing around using abstractions and pretty words wasn’t going to get much of anywhere with Prowl.
> 
> “Well, the fact that you consider it to be ‘done properly and in order’ is in itself informative, and for that - my thanks. But  _honestly_ , Prowl. What  _kind_  of relationship is this? Are we simply allies and nothing more? I hesitate to even say the word ‘friend’ - it just feels  _wrong_ somehow -“ A weird tiny shudder. “- but there’s  _something_ , a more emotional and less businesslike side of our relationship, that just - doesn’t feel like it’s ever addressed, and it’s a source of perturbation for me.
> 
> “…Is there a… a relationship descriptor tool somewhere we could utilize, to help you understand what I’m getting at? I suppose I could attempt to fabricate one myself - something with little check boxes or percentages, hyeh. That - actually doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, but…”
> 
> It awkwardly dawned on Tarantulas what he was asking of Prowl - a rating of Prowl’s attraction(s) to him, essentially. That wasn’t quite what he’d been intending to ask for, and it felt - strangely intrusive. A split-second datanet search confirmed his thoughts - oh, he knew exactly what he could write up, it’d be so  _simple_ , just a matter of gathering six data points. Put that way, it sounded absurdly simple. But it didn’t  _feel_  simple.
> 
> He should  _not_  have brought this up. Or, at least not now, in this context.
> 
> Tarantulas slowly cycled his visor off and on again. “Nevermind - I - don’t concern yourself with it if it seems too vague or frivolous. Words and labels are restrictive, anyhow.”

Prowl

> … Ah. Okay. Prowl got it.
> 
> Prowl looked down at his datapad (now turned off), optics dimming slightly as he tried to put his words together. Tarantulas wanted to know the exact nature of their current relationship. It was a difficult, complicated question. A precise definition was a razor-thin line between “inadvertently overstating the current nature of the relationship” and “accidentally understating the relationship’s potential,” and Prowl did not want to step off the line. He has to choose his words carefully.
> 
> When he finally spoke, dimmed gaze still fixed on his blank datapad, it was with the slowness and mechanical stiffness that always accompanied his more over-prepared statements. “We are—at present—allies, officially. That is what we have formally arranged. Unofficially, we may—consider each other friends. A friendship requires no such arrangement, and can vary wildly in intensity, such that it can contain zero obligations and expectations, or many. Currently, ours is—low intensity. That is all we currently are. Formally, allies, and informally, loose friends. This does not preclude the possibility of increasing or decreasing the intensity of either aspect of our current relationship, of removing one of these aspects, or of adding additional aspects.”
> 
> There. A heavy ex-vent as he relaxed. That sounded right. “I don’t think labels are restrictive. Proper labels do not contain an object, they illuminate it—making it easier to identify and quantify what’s already there. Language is—flawed, I’m well aware. Incomplete and imprecise. But, the solution isn’t to throw away language and the pursuit of precise knowledge altogether. When in a situation where a more precise means of communicating something is unavailable, words and labels are still necessary.”

Tarantulas

> As soon as the awkwardness had started to overtake Tarantulas, he’d been trying to suppress a nervous tickle of laughter; now, a little eked out. He tried to play it off by fading it into a sigh.
> 
> Suddenly, this was _not_  what he wanted. Nothing Prowl could say would be what he wanted to hear, because Tarantulas didn’t actually want to hear it. Oh, he’d thought he’d go ahead and ask to clarify things so he could take advantage of their serious tone, but he hadn’t thought ahead far enough. But - he shut the thoughts out before he could get lost in them.
> 
> “…I _really_  don’t like the term ‘friends.’ Can we just - isn’t there some other word to use? Platonic - something-or-other? In any case, I’m vetoing friends.”

Prowl

> Why a sigh? Disappointment? Yes, well, if Tarantulas had been hoping for more, Prowl supposed he _would_  be disappointed. But what had he expected?
> 
> “What’s wrong with the word friends?” _Friends_ was the most accurate word to describe the state of being friends. Why dance around it with less accurate terms to describe the same thing?

Tarantulas

> Because apparently friends wasn’t what they were, or at least, wasn’t what Tarantulas thought they should be. Ask him later, and Tarantulas will tell you that to him it feels simultaneously limiting and exclusionary, and it’s attached to the wrong connotations in his mind; however, ask him now, and he’ll just pull a blank and say:
> 
> “I don’t _like_  it. Not in all cases, but it just - doesn’t _fit_.”
> 
> His visor narrowed a bit as he stared off to the side. Maybe if he focused his thoughts a little harder he could make the idea transfer telepathically, and Prowl would just _get_  it - or maybe just say OK and leave it at that. He didn’t want to have to discuss and pick words and dig in too much.

Prowl

> “… Why not?” Did Tarantulas think they _weren’t_  friends? Or did he not want to be friends? After all they’d been through to get to this point—that was it? They were, just… going to be professional now? There was to be no social aspect to their relationship?
> 
> No, that didn’t make sense. Not with—not with everything Tarantulas had done, and all his behavior implied. Prowl pushed himself off Tarantulas’s chest, sitting up, pulling his knees closer to his chest, trying to work out what in the world Tarantulas thought they were, if not friends. (He was _sitting in Tarantulas’s lap_ , that was— And he didn’t think they were _friends_?)

Tarantulas

> _ Oh _ \- a new thought bubbled up. At least this was one Tarantulas could attempt to articulate instead of resorting to waving his claws around helplessly, like he _felt_  like doing (especially now that Prowl was pulling away).
> 
> “Friends is too - _casual_. Too normal. Neither of us are casual personalities to begin with, and given our respective pasts with our alternates that shouldn’t necessarily affect us but do and given the way we just _are_  together - it just doesn’t - doesn’t _fit_. It’s not _enough_. It’s just not right, in a way I obviously can’t fully explain.” A rueful squint, now directed back toward Prowl.

Prowl

> “I’m normal enough to have friends.” For a split second, he sounded nearly petulant. “I— _I_  think it fits. It, seems… right. It fits. It fits me.”
> 
> But, he hesitated. He’s been called abnormal too many times. He’s lost nearly every friend he ever briefly gained, because he’s abnormal. So… “You—think we aren’t friends? You think our… our personalities, preclude the possibility of our being friends?”

Tarantulas

> “You _can_ and _do_  have friends, and besides, you don’t have to be _normal_  to have friends - but that’s not what I’m saying.” An exasperated pause. “I think we’re - something else, or, something more; I don’t exactly know. But it’s not something our personalities preclude, it’s just something that - our interactions are just - it’s _different_.
> 
> “I guess you could say we’re friends, but we’re not - we’re not  _just_  friends. And low intensity is the last thing I would ever use to describe _any_ of my relationships, by the way - but see, that’s just a consequence of who I am.”
> 
> Primus, Tarantulas hadn’t felt like he’d been fumbling for words this badly in quite some time.

Prowl

> As someone who had repeatedly failed to maintain friendships precisely because he was abnormal, Prowl disagreed with the assertion that one didn’t have to be normal to have friends. He didn’t communicate his disagreement with anything more than a slightly deeper frown.
> 
> “So what are we, then. If we’re not friends.”

Tarantulas

> “I just said we _were,_ but if you insist, I guess we’re - we’re…”
> 
> The feeling of regretting bringing this up was worsening by the minute. Tarantulas had absolutely no idea what to say. Give him a little while to come up with something - he’d simply frozen in place, arms unraveled from around Prowl’s waist.
> 
> “I think the closest thing is somewhere between… similar to… _partners_. Not necessarily in a romantic sense -” Not yet, at least. “- but something… collaborative, with professional implications, but also not exclusively. Something perpetually morphing or - or developing. I think the term ‘partner’ allows for a decent amount of much-needed wiggle room.”

Prowl

> “It’s vague,” Prowl said. “‘Partners’ doesn’t say anything. It could mean anything from ‘co-workers who hate each other but were assigned a project together’ all the way to 'conjuges endurae.’ It’s too open-ended. What’s the point in using a word that doesn’t mean anything rather than using a word that describes precisely where we are and then changing the word if it stops being accurate?”

Tarantulas

> You caught him, Prowl. Thanks for shutting down his easy loophole out.
> 
> “I could mean anything we _want_  it to mean; that’s - that’s mainly the point. But that’s what I meant when I told you nevermind - I don’t think we’ll be able to settle on something that’s sufficiently precise but non-limiting. We have… rather dissimilar ideas on how to nominalize ourselves.” And dissimilar ideas of what they _were_ , evidently.

Prowl

> “A word that doesn’t have a set meaning has failed at the one duty words have. Why would we want a term that’s non-limiting?”

Tarantulas

> “It’s a template - and what are words besides miniaturized generalizations anyhow? It’s - none of it’s ideal. It may be best to simply drop the subject.” No answer to the last question.
> 
> Tarantulas was visibly uncomfortable by now if Prowl was attentive enough - little twitches of limb and mandible, the slight twist of his neck as he spoke. Additionally, for some reason Prowl’s presence on his lap was getting to be… a little too close. The thought felt incredibly foreign.

Prowl

> His gaze is on his knees—and he’s been dealing too much with his own internal discomfort to notice Tarantulas’s external discomfort.
> 
> He’d been having the same thoughts about his position on Tarantulas’s lap since Tarantulas had said they weren’t friends. He’d fought the urge to get off because he knew if he had, Tarantulas would likely have interpreted that as a punishment for not giving Prowl a pleasing answer and scrambled to “correct” himself; but Prowl had been fighting the urge long enough now.
> 
> He put his hands on the floor and slid back, off Tarantulas’s lap, and a safe distance away. No touching. He curled up again. “Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Tarantulas

> Despite Prowl’s attempts, Tarantulas still felt a little punished by the move off his lap, but he wasn’t about to fight or complain about it. There was… too much else going on. So, he settled into place again, pulling up a leg of his own to hold onto, watching Prowl carefully.
> 
> Tarantulas wrangled with his thoughts a while - Prowl wasn’t letting this go, so neither could he. But what could he say? Prowl wanted them to be - just friends? Not _just_  just friends, but - it felt like the wrong word in the first place. Or maybe they weren’t… weren’t actually friends.
> 
> It made a little sense, now that he thought about it. Tarantulas had jumped recklessly into their relationship, forcing Prowl into acknowledging and paying attention to a stranger he knew nothing about. He’d deliberately (and somewhat reasonably so) assumed a relationship in the first place, for the sake of establishing one - so maybe… maybe they’d just skipped over the whole friendship stage and into a weird realm of ambiguous ‘partnership’ instead.
> 
> That put Tarantulas ten steps back instead of leaps forward like he’d hoped they’d make soon. Now he’d have to deal with the consequences of his rampant presumptuousness.
> 
> “…You’re… upset with me. Is there a particular articulable reason why? For directness’ sake.”

Prowl

> “… I’m…” Prowl stopped himself before continuing—to check and make sure his statement would be honest. A moment of silence. Then he started again. “I’m not upset with you.” His upset was not caused by Tarantulas.
> 
> He fell silent again, staring at the floor between his feet and Tarantulas’s thigh. An articulable reason? “… I detest vague language,” he mumbled. “Vague relationships.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl wasn’t upset with _him_? His relief was tinged with confusion. But - oh.
> 
> “I can… I can empathize, but I don’t know that there’s a way around it in this situation. Or - that is - I’m not… not adamantly against calling us friends, if that helps. We _are_ , and can be. I was just attempting to express something… else.”
> 
> Did that mean Tarantulas had just lied, in calling them friends? Primus, he didn’t know anymore, and he was starting not to care, either. Whatever they agreed on now would become truth anyhow.
> 
> “…Although, are you implying that our relationship in its very nature is vague, or solely the naming? If there’s even a difference, hyeh.”

Prowl

> “ _You’re trying_ to make it vague,” Prowl said. “I had a—a concrete—thing to call it. And, now I don’t.”
> 
> He stared at the floor. And then said, reluctantly, “If you don’t think we’re friends, then I guess we aren’t.” It was clear Tarantulas did not truly believe the term applied. Prowl would not be a one-sided friend to him. “We’re allies, then. Just allies.”

Tarantulas

> “I’m -” Tarantulas halted, restarted. “I’m being vague because I _feel_  vague, and feelings are what a relationship consists of, at its - ”
> 
> Tarantulas slowly shook his head. “…That’s not true. The - vagueness. I don’t feel vague - I’ve just got too _many_ things, Prowl, too many words, too many feelings. And, I suppose it’s also untrue to say that feelings matter in a relationship - that is, if all we are is allies. Even though I _did_ say…” A sigh.
> 
> There was no bitterness or sarcasm in his voice, just resignation. He’d failed, in a sense. There wasn’t any way for him to make Prowl understand how he simply felt in his chassis, no way to really salvage it, was there? Those ten steps back weren’t something he could just pretend away.

Prowl

> “Them why not _use_ more words?” Prowl asked. “Why—why try to reduce all those words to one word that doesn’t fit anything? I can’t understand things you don’t say.”
> 
> He shook his head. “No. Feelings don’t matter to a relationship, any relationship. Actions do. Feelings may be the motivation but actions are all the other party can see and process. If a feeling never gets expressed as an action, then it doesn’t count for anything.”

Tarantulas

> “Do you _want_  a phrase a million miles long, Prowl?” A wry squint. “Besides, I doubt many of the sentiments are reciprocal, so there’s no point including them in a mutual statement.”
> 
> That hurt to say, but it was the truth, right? It’d _always_ been the truth, with N-Prowl and those who came before him, and now with C-Prowl. Tarantulas had always felt too much, been too much, offered too much, and there was no way around it. Might as well own up to it.
> 
> “Hyeh, see? There’s no need for me to explain any of it anyway, is there? If there _are_  feelings, they’ll be expressed in other ways, as you say.”

Prowl

> “I would prefer an accurate account of a million miles to an inaccurate account of half an inch.”
> 
> How did Tarantulas know that the sentiments weren’t reciprocated if he didn’t ask? Prowl wanted to challenge him on that—but doing that would beg the question of what Prowl _did_ feel. That wasn’t a question he could face. Any mention of his feelings had been carefully left out of his analysis of his relationship with Tarantulas, and that wasn’t by accident.
> 
> “That’s the exact opposite of what I said. Feelings _don’t_ get expressed. Not until a choice is made to express them. Until then, they’re literally imaginary. They don’t exist.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl might not have challenged Tarantulas outright, but it seemed to have come across anyway. The wry look in his visor only intensified.
> 
> “In sum, is that your way of telling me to ‘get it over with already’? I can’t blame you - I’m probably being a bit insufferable at the moment.”

Prowl

> “No. It’s not.” Because if Tarantulas shared, then Prowl had to share. “If they have not been expressed in action, then they’re imaginary. If they’re imaginary, then they don’t matter. We have already determined the nature of our relationship on the basis of our actions toward each other—concrete, external, measurable actions. It’s settled.”

Tarantulas

> _ Oh. _ That felt - not so great, to say the least. In any other moment Tarantulas might have gotten frustrated or outright indignant at the blatant invalidation of his emotions, but the anger must have been swallowed deep down; all Tarantulas could come up with now was a choking sort of despair.
> 
> “Fair enough. We’ll… see how it progresses, then.” A little while later he mumbled something about “allies… hmn,” as if testing out the syllables in vocalizer and tumbling the concept around in his processor.

Prowl

> “We should move on.” He was telling himself as much as he was telling Tarantulas. “We're—officially in business now. We can get to work. We can discuss Springer.”
> 
> Anything, anything to move on from the knowledge gnawing at his spark that Tarantulas saw them as _partners_ —that he saw Prowl as something that could be precious and desirable one day but annoying and burdensome the next, without having to change the word he called him. It didn’t matter, it didn’t matter. Springer was waiting for them.

Tarantulas

> Prowl, oh Prowl. If only you knew what ‘partners’ actually meant to Tarantulas. He wouldn’t have suggested the word if he’d known it’d imply anything less than whole-sparked dedication.
> 
> The change of subject clearly caught Tarantulas off guard; it was a second before he replied. “Yes - Springer. Does this mean you’d like to discuss plans right now? Because I don’t _quite_ think I have the processing power to give the situation the attention it deserves.”

Prowl

> A moment to consider. Then he shook his head. “If you can’t focus now, it can wait.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave Prowl a slow nod, thoughts already starting to drift off. Was this going to be the tapering off of their interaction for now? Was he alright with that? What _were_  they going to say about Springer - no, Ostaros - when they got around to it?
> 
> Eventually he came back to the present.
> 
> “…Do allies still have cuddling privileges?”

Prowl

> Prowl shook his head. That’s something friends do.

Tarantulas

> A pang of something awful gripped Tarantulas. Why - but why was cuddling so important to him? It _was_  though, and it showed on his face.
> 
> “What - I -”

Prowl

> “If you’re not yet prepared to discuss Springer, then I suggest we adjourn for now. Contact me when you’re prepared. I’m going to be switched to night shifts soon, so my schedule’s going to change.”

Tarantulas

> Alright, well, that meant Tarantulas would just have to suppress that reaction for now. He’d have time to get intensely upset about all of this once he got home.
> 
> “I’ll - yes.” A sigh. “It’s not as if my schedule will change anytime soon - it remains wildly erratic and consequentially flexible. I’ll keep you informed.”

Prowl

> “Fine. You know my comm.”
> 
> And that was that.
> 
> They weren’t friends.
> 
> They were allies. They would conduct business.
> 
> That was that.
> 
> He waited for Tarantulas to leave.

Tarantulas

> It didn’t take long for Tarantulas to come to the conclusion that he clearly wasn’t wanted in the apartment any longer. That didn’t stop him from lingering on the floor, maybe just to be in Prowl’s presence a little longer - but no.
> 
> “Until then.”
> 
> And then he was up, away, transforming, shrinking down, zipping up, and gone.

Prowl

> A small nod.
> 
> He waited until Tarantulas was gone.
> 
> And then, slowly, climbed back onto his chair, turned his datapad on, and started slowly typing notes.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are coming together, but under less than optimal conditions.

Tarantulas

> _Allies_. Just allies. The thought was painful, but Tarantulas forcibly etched it into his processor. This’d have to be the beginning again, or something like that - there was no pushing Prowl, no trying to twist things around to get what he wanted, because that’d just set them back even further. Tarantulas had promised Prowl respect, and he’d have to follow up on it now - his first test, in a way.
> 
> The prospect of having their next conversation be strictly business was even more disheartening and only served to drive the point home even deeper. It took longer than it should have for Tarantulas to pull himself out of a cycle of sometimes-depressive, sometimes-violent moping fits, but eventually he did rein himself in enough to safely comm Prowl again.
> 
> _Ping_ , then: «Are you available to discuss plans for Ostaros? Or, ah - Springer.»

Prowl

> The ping came shortly after Prowl had returned home from work. Any plans tonight? No. Nothing that needed to be done immediately. There were always more architectural studies to work on, but they could wait.
> 
> «Yes. I’m available.» He headed up the stairs, to move his architecture datapads to the side of his desk and pull out his work on Springer.

Tarantulas

> Part of Tarantulas had been hoping Prowl would be busy, but it’d probably be best to jump right in anyhow, wouldn’t it…
> 
> «Is - is it permitted for me to come over to your apartment, or would you prefer this remain on comms?»

Prowl

> «You can come over. It will be easier to show you my files.»
> 
> This was just business. And Prowl and Mesothulas had always done their business with each other in person, never over comms. It wouldn’t make sense to change that now. Changing that now would be to admit something unbusinesslike had shifted in their dynamic.

Tarantulas

> _Easier to show you my files_. The most logical reason, and likely the  _only_  reason. If Prowl kept up the whole conversation in the same vein, Tarantulas anticipated he’d have to find a way to mask the little winces he’d surely make at each new cool remark.
> 
> «Very well. I’ll be there in a minute.»
> 
> A minute, because he wanted to take a breath and preemptively calm himself down. Once he’d done so, he made his way over as per usual through a portal in the vents, making the assumption that Prowl was in the berthroom like before.

Prowl

> «All right.»
> 
> And the minute gave Prowl a chance to take a deep breath, too. It’s fine. They’re just getting to work. That’s all.
> 
> That’s all.
> 
> When Tarantulas arrives, Prowl is waiting at his desk, several datapads on and waiting in front of him. His gaze is directed down at the center one, displaying an image of Springer unconscious and hooked up to his life support machines.

Tarantulas

> A ping before a small spider dangled down from the ceiling, and two seconds later Tarantulas was hesitantly sitting down in the makeshift chair across from Prowl. As he glanced over the datapads, Tarantulas’ gaze lingered on the image of Springer, and he gave a hushed “ _Ostaros_ …” 
> 
> But, collecting himself, Tarantulas sat back again and tried to get marginally comfortable - who knew how long this was going to take.
> 
> “I - haven’t had the chance to check in on him lately. How is he…?”

Prowl

> “Unchanged.” Prowl pushed the datapad across the table to Tarantulas. “This is the latest picture I have of him. He’s still on Debris and still on life support. This also contains all his medical records since his injury that I could get my hands on. As I told you previously, he’s got a zero point somewhere in his system, and that’s what needs to be fixed. His body was meticulously repaired and the damaged parts replaced, and that wasn’t enough to wake him up. The medical records describe everything we’ve done to try to wake him up. I don’t suppose you already have an idea how to fix a zero point?”

Tarantulas

> Carefully Tarantulas took the datapad, simply gazing at Springer for a while before rifling through the rest of the contents loaded onto the device.
> 
> “There are a few ideas already out there, but seeing as none of them have proven successful in any quantifiable fashion, they’re of little help. Roadbuster’s been reading him _Wreckers: Declassified_ , correct? The lack of response after so many years pretty much nixes the subconscious emotional triggering theory, among others, so…” A little bit of distracted reading, then he glanced up and went on.
> 
> “I do have a few ideas of my own, yes. I could always scan him myself and see if that can’t locate anything - because if we can find  _where_  the zero point is, it’d be a fairly simple procedure to bridge the gap. Otherwise I could come up with ways to track the overall flow of spark energy via frequency tagging, which would be somewhat laborious process, but more likely to come up with results than a quick scan would.
> 
> “Those are just two - I’m sure I could brainstorm more if need be.”

Prowl

> “His system…” Prowl gestured vaguely, “ _twitched,_  once, while he was being read to. But it obviously didn’t wake him up.” He’d had such high hopes when he’d received the news. He’d spent the next week hoping that Springer was already awake, and that the lack of news from Debris just meant the comm signal wasn’t getting through.
> 
> No. Of course not.
> 
> “We’ve done every scan imaginable. Springer is very important to the Autobots—we spared no expense to try to wake him up again. Whatever scan you do will have to be something that you yourself invented, or else we’ll have already tried it. But, yes. Try that. And the frequency tagging, and whatever else you can think up.
> 
> “Do you know what woke up Springer in your universe?”

Tarantulas

> “Ah - the same thing occurred with Ostaros in my universe. It does lend a  _small_ amount of credence to the theory, but it’s anecdotal and coincidental at best. In any case, a spike of activity suggests a minuscule amount of energy managed to traverse the zero point due to pent-up pressure, which has been documented in other cases and isn’t correlated with progressive recovery.
> 
> “How about I brainstorm, then order options by priority and practicality, and we go from there? I don’t know how much and what sort of access we’ll have to Ostaros - what are the facilities there like? Security? Windows of opportunity and such?”
> 
> A dissatisfied noise, and Tarantulas furrowed his visor brow. “No, I don’t. Only that it happened suddenly, and that it had nothing to do with me. I didn’t - I wasn’t aware he was Ostaros until after he regained consciousness. I  _did_  ask him after the fact, but he either wasn’t willing to tell me or didn’t know for himself.”

Prowl

> “Is there a way to take advantage of that pent-up pressure? If it’s enough to jump the gap, would more pressure bridge it? Or would that just cause damage?” Prowl was sure it wasn’t that simple; but, hey, if he didn’t ask…
> 
> “Yes, get to work brainstorming and bring your ideas to the next meeting. I can get you details on Debris’s security later, if it becomes relevant. Ideally you won’t have to mess with that; it would be best if I could get Springer transferred out of Debris so you can work on him at your leisure instead of worrying about the next time Roadbuster comes in to read him a bedtime story. But that’s a long shot; I don’t have that kind of authority anymore. I’ll still work on it but I can’t make promises now.”
> 
> Prowl nodded. “I’ve met a conscious Springer as well. From another universe, of course. But I didn’t find out how he woke up either, and I’ve lost contact with him.”

Tarantulas

> “Given we don’t know where the zero point is in the first place, we wouldn’t know where to apply pressure - and even if we did, I’d wager a 50/50 chance it could fix or further exacerbate the problem. I’d rather solve things by superconducting across the gap or removing whatever’s inhibiting flow, depending on what the root cause of the zero point is.”
> 
> Tarantulas looked both surprised and eager at the prospect of having Springer close at hand. “That would be  _most_  optimal, to be sure. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to facilitate - or if… well… would you be against the idea of relocating him  _without_  explicit permission? Or would that come with too many complications?”
> 
> A little nod, Tarantulas’ gaze wandering off sadly. “I haven’t been able to connect with any of his alternates, myself.” Not necessarily because he literally couldn’t, but because he couldn’t bring himself to.

Prowl

> “50/50 odds are unacceptable. If we know where the zero point is in the first place, then we don’t need to do anything fancy besides simply repairing the problem.”
> 
> Prowl sighed and sat back, contemplating the idea. “… We might  _have_  to relocate him, whether we get permission or not. I’ll let you know whether you’ll need to assist in that once I know whether we’re likely to be able to get our hands on him legally. I think the Wreckers will forgive us for kidnapping their leader if we return him fully operational.” A wan smile. “But, anyway—we don’t have to deal with that yet. We can figure out how to fix him before we need to figure out how to steal him.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes, that’s quite the point. I’ll be focusing my efforts on detection, then.”
> 
> A hum of assent. “So long as the Wreckers don’t attempt to track us down and tear us to scrap  _before_  we return him - but I’m not terribly worried about that possibility. I… ” A thoughtful squint. “I would much rather prefer the two be co-prioritized - or maybe we should even focus on obtaining him  _first_. Having Ostaros nearby to scan and otherwise attend to will be crucial for narrowing down the possibilities for successively locating, diagnosing, and curing the zero point. Medicinal processes are rarely done remotely for a reason.”

Prowl

> “… Hm. Co-prioritizing them for ease of examination is reasonable. Still—if we acquire him first and  _then_  examine him, that will mean we’ll have to hold onto him for that much longer—and that could be a very long time. If we’ve kidnapped him and the Wreckers are looking for him…” Prowl trailed off. And then nodded to himself decisively. “I suppose that just means my first task will be finding out if we can get hold of him legally. If we  _can’t,_  then perhaps we ought to find a way to sneak you in while too small to see, so you can do as many examinations as possible before we have to kidnap him and set the Wreckers on a manhunt. How does that sound?”

Tarantulas

> “I can only hope it  _won’t_  be a very long time…” But at the same time, Tarantulas was suddenly worried Ostaros wouldn’t want anything to do with him once he awoke, so maybe he  _did_  want to just… keep Ostaros around… coma or not. But that meant risking him slipping away even further…
> 
> Oh - Prowl was asking his opinion. “Yes - that sounds best for now. I  _can_  get into Debris on my own given the correct coordinates, but there’s only so much I can do without knowing schedules and security,  _and_  sans the equipment I’d consider too large or delicate to transport in my subspace.
> 
> “…What if we did take him sooner but left something in his place? If we could determine the type and thoroughness of his current interactions, we could possibly even substitute in a sufficiently complex hologram.”

Prowl

> “Hmm. Perhaps not a hologram—eventually, someone will try to touch him, and holomatter is too fuel inefficient—but, a sufficiently advanced fake body…” He thought over the idea. “It should be easy to hack the equipment and program it to display normal readings. Can you create a… a statue, an automaton, something that looks and feels exactly like Springer? We could put a hologram  _over_  it to mimic the imperfections in his paint and armor, certainly, but the base of the thing would have to accurately produce heat, motor sounds, an EM field… It’s a possibility, but it’s not a Plan A. And I don’t want you putting undue resources into creating a passable fake Springer instead of putting those resources into Springer himself.”

Tarantulas

> “I  _could_ , yes… I…” Already Tarantulas’ processor was off pulling together materials and composition for the automaton, but - back to the matter at hand. 
> 
> “That’s entirely reasonable - I’d much rather address the actual problem than waste time covering our tracks unnecessarily.”
> 
> Tap tap slide, back to the medical files on the datapad. Tarantulas started skimming them to see if there was anything notable he could pull out to discuss.

Prowl

> Prowl waited quietly as Tarantulas looked though the documents.
> 
> But after a moment, he said, “I have another matter to discuss. Something else I am hoping you might do to—for—Springer.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas glanced up at Prowl, datapad forgotten - something to do  **to** him?
> 
> “And what might that be?”

Prowl

> “I expect you know how Springer ended up in this condition. Combat with Overlord. Phase-Sixer. A Decepticon who’s received some sort of upgrades that make him almost invincible. He’s survived everything from the Wreckers to being shot by missiles designed for battleships.”
> 
> He turned on a datapad that very clearly said on the cover that it contained  _highly_  classified material, unlocked it, and slid it over to Tarantulas. It read  _Project: Total Insanity._
> 
> “If we figure out what makes the Decepticons’ top soldiers so indestructible and how to apply it, nobody will ever be able to do this to Springer again.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes. I - yes.” A pained look flickered across Tarantulas’ visor. Oh, the things his poor Ostaros had been through, things he’d never have wanted…
> 
> At the sight of classified material, Tarantulas leaned forward, simultaneously eager and wary.  _Total Insanity_ , huh? Nothing out of the usual for them, but it seemed to have a different air altogether. He took the datapad carefully, as if worried he’d break it.
> 
> “…You want to turn Ostaros into a Phase-Sixer. essentially.” The thought sent a thrill down Tarantulas’ spinal strut. “Before I delve into this -” He gestured to the datapad. “- is there anything I ought to know? A summary? Immediate caveats? Usually I wouldn’t want to color my opinion before seeing details and data, but I feel as if this is a - a special case.”

Prowl

> “Essentially. More like an anti-Phase-Sixer, since obviously Springer isn’t going to be destroying any planets.”
> 
> Prowl sighed, “We’ve already put substantial research into Phase-Sixers. Spies in the Decepticons weren’t able to give us anything of use. I’ve talked to Starscream but he hasn’t got us anything useful yet. We had our hands on Overlord for a few years, during which we tried to examine him to figure out how he was constructed; underneath his surface armor, he’s so invincible that we couldn’t even flake off pieces of him to study his structure. We tried to interrogate him on how he was made, but his interrogator  _snuck into his cell_  and  _set him free._ ” Prowl shook his head, grimacing in disgust. “All we know is a detail that Overlord let slip to one of his victims: the process involves ununtrium. I’ve collected all I can find—a paltry eighteen ounces. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with it, or how much we need, but I’ve got it. We have a lot of work ahead of us.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had heard some about Overlord’s capture, but not about the interrogation or the untouchable invincibility. That raised more than a few questions, but only some of the made it out of Tarantulas’ vocalizer.
> 
> “ _Ununtrium_. Hmn… I could imagine that somehow lending invulnerable properties to a protoform considering the makeup of sentio metallico, but the  _how_  is… Precisely. I don’t suppose you were able to simply test for composition directly on his frame without actually taking the sample? And - eighteen ounces…” A brief flurry of conversions and calculations. “That’s enough to cover Ostaros’ protoform in a layer one angstrom thick, but nothing more. Considering we don’t know how whatever process works, or if the ununtrium is incorporated into a larger molecular structure, that’s not enough information to say if it’s sufficient to confer the same invincibility.
> 
> “Unfortunately I’m betting ‘a lot of work’ is a bit of an understatement, unless there’s something in these files that’ll inform me otherwise.”
> 
> A pause, then Tarantulas gave a double take. “Wait, where did you  _get_  the ununtrium from in the  _first_ place?”

Prowl

> “I couldn’t begin to tell you what tests we did—they were never thoroughly explained to me—but we weren’t able to find anything.”
> 
> Prowl was going to guess that an angstrom probably wasn’t going to be thick enough. “If we don’t have enough to completely cover his protoform, we can focus on his head and torso. As long as his processor, spark, and t-cog are protected, the rest can be rebuilt.”
> 
> A thin, wry smile. “Probably, yes. Although we now have an advantage we didn’t have before.” He nodded at Tarantulas. “You  _know_  a Phase-Sixer. Overlord certainly wasn’t willing to talk to the Autobots—no surprises there—but it stands to reason that Black Shadow would be willing to talk to one of his own friends.” As long as Tarantulas had horrible buddies, they might as well take advantage of it.
> 
> “I hired a bounty hunter to collect as much as he could find.”

Tarantulas

> “No worries, I’ll see for myself then.” Tarantulas contemplated the datapad, wondering exactly what he’d find therein. Likely nothing but misses on a battleship gameboard, but he might still be able to infer what he needed to do thanks to their trial and error. 
> 
> “Partial coverage isn’t optimal, but it may just have to do. Your bounty hunter friend did his best I’m sure, but eighteen ounces is hardly  _bountiful_. …Although, even then I don’t want to know how much you must’ve paid for it.”
> 
> Aha, yes, Tarantulas had forgotten Black Shadow. “So you’re suggesting I question him for information…? How ought I go about doing so? I’m not exactly an interrogation expert, suffice to say, and he’s not terribly likely to go around dispensing critical information to just any friendly mech.”

Prowl

> Prowl grimaced at the word  _friend._  “He gives me discounts in return for services. But even at that, it put a massive dent in my savings.” Prowl’s bank account was lucky Lockdown had only found eighteen ounces.
> 
> “I can’t find any on the Galactic Council black market, either. As far as I can see, the Decepticons snapped up every deposit in the known universe ages ago. I suspect that explains why  _all_  their soldiers aren’t Phase Sixers and Warrior Elites; they ran out of one of the most important ingredients, and upgrades stopped. That doesn’t mean there  _isn’t_  more ununtrium out there, of course—but I certainly can’t find it.”
> 
> A shrug. “I’m afraid you’ll have to work that part out on your own; I don’t know him like you do. He  _is_  highly susceptible to bribes, so if you think you might be able to buy the information, I may be able to petition Starscream for funds. We’re looking for ways to neutralize Phase Sixers, so that a pack of angry Decepticons can’t descend on Iacon and slaughter us in an hour; the expenditure could help progress his goals as well as ours. But I’m concerned that if you come to Black Shadow attempting to buy the information, he’ll get suspicious and clam up.” Still—it was a possibility worth mentioning. “But, honestly? You’re a curious scientist, he’s a curious product of science, and he appears to like you—it shouldn’t be hard for you to start asking questions. That would be in character for you even if you  _didn’t_  have ulterior motives.”

Tarantulas

> Discounts for services? At any other time Tarantulas would’ve dug for more on that one, but not with ununtrium-ified Ostaros on the mind.
> 
> “…In the known universe, you say. That does hypothetically imply there would be a similar amount to be found in my native universe, should we know where to look for it. Is there any way to snag that information?”
> 
> A bit of laughter from Tarantulas. “Oh nonono, I wouldn’t go about bribing Black Shadow, there are far too many ways that could fall through. Besides, I get the impression he’d get  _offended_  moreso than suspicious. But it’s true… I’ve tangentially inquired about his Phase-Sixer status before, and he didn’t seem perturbed. A little clueless, maybe, but that doesn’t preclude the possibility of convincing him to let me run tests on him and the like.”

Prowl

> A grimace. “I’m sure I’d have to pay him for information on where he found that ununtrium. Still—I can try to get the location out of him. Although if I had it hunted out and picked up, there’s a decent probability that my alternates would have, too.
> 
> Prowl laughed sharply. “He didn’t seem that offended when we bribed him to kill his own Decepticon allies. But if you can simply ask him questions and get answers, that’s ideal. Undoubtedly he won’t understand the full process himself—he’s not that bright—but he’s bound to know something we can use. If nothing else, the name of the scientist to search for, or the facilities where he underwent whatever procedures were involved. Even better if you can run tests that manage to get around whatever was preventing us from making progress.”

Tarantulas

> A frowning visor. “That’s… true. But considering Ostaros has already regained consciousness in my verse, I’m not sure the idea of reinforcing him might have occurred to my - your alternate, at the same time, if at all.” Ugh. Tarantulas had almost said ‘my Prowl’ - as if any Prowl were ever his. (Certainly not N-Prowl, and certainly not C-Prowl, now…). “I’d say… it  _might_  be worth the effort to go looking for extra ununtrium if our stock isn’t enough, but the time, effort, and shanix involved are far from negligible. Although -” A sudden worried look. “I  _will_ need some to test and work with, so we won’t even have all eighteen ounces for Ostaros. I can’t say how much I’ll require - certainly I’ll detract as little as safely possible, but - I’m  _not_ skimping on testing with this project.
> 
> “With Black Shadow though, it’s… complicated. I only say  _offended_  because it’d be coming from a friend-figure and not an enemy - different rules. Regardless, the point’s fairly moot. I’ll see what information I can acquire first, although I’d prefer refraining from asking about testing until  _after_ we follow any leads; I wouldn’t want to push his patience if we can get the answers we want through other venues.”

Prowl

> “I’ve been looking for a way to make a Phase Sixer since we got our hands on Overlord. I would have continued with it whether or not Springer woke up—or whether or not Springer was even alive. He’s my top choice, but even if he were gone, I would still want the Autobots to have a soldier that could defend against the Decepticons’ worst threats. My alternate would continue.”
> 
> Prowl’s mouth turned sharply downward. “How much do you think you’ll need for testing? And what are you going to test it  _on_?” They barely had any to spare, what could it possibly cover—a scraplet? (That was a nightmare of an idea. He was absolutely not going to say it out loud within Tarantulas’s hearing range.)
> 
> “Agreed. If he answers enough questions in enough detail and we can follow up on some solid leads, then you won’t need to run tests on him. We’ll call that your plan B.”

Tarantulas

> “Ah, I see. Hopefully we won’t have to rely on obtaining any more - the idea seems wishful at best. I’d guess I wouldn’t need any more than, say… half a finger segment’s worth? But I’m aware that might still make a crucial difference in covering  _just_  the head and torso. I’ll be sure to update you on estimates and feasibility when I can.
> 
> “Oh, and most likely it’d be testing on protoform samples. But  _don’t_  ask - you wouldn’t believe me if I said they were legally obtained.” They weren’t.
> 
> A nod at the last proposition. “I’ll be sure to proceed with Plan A as soon as possible, then.”

Prowl

> “We probably won’t know how much is needed until we’ve learned more about the process.”
> 
> At the mention of the protoform samples, Prowl gave Tarantulas a hard look. “You  _just_  promised not to lie, including no dancing around the truth in a misleading way,” he said. “Don’t break that promise before you’ve even had time to make it a habit.” No, Prowl doesn’t trust Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> “I - that was  _truthful_. Is it honestly something you really  _must_  know?” A tiny frustrated vent-fwush. Well, at least it wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve stumbled across. “…I haven’t the raw resources for making protoforms like I did with Ostaros, but I’ve been able to harvest from battlefields and recycle when necessary. I… do have a small stockpile that I could draw from.”
> 
> A half-truth. The majority of Tarantulas’ stockpile was from Roadbuster and the Chimeracon project, but that… Prowl did  _not_  need to know about that.

Prowl

> “No. I don’t need to know. I didn’t ask. I wasn’t going to ask. I’m just reminding you: honest answers or no answers. No lies, or evasions that deliberately suggest a lie.”
> 
> But even if he hadn’t meant to ask—he had an answer now, and now he had to decide whether to believe it. Did he believe that? He had no reason not to—except Tarantulas’s egregious history of lying and quickness to become defensive before Prowl even questioned him.
> 
> He wouldn’t challenge it. Not for now. “It would be a waste of a very limited resource if the test is spent on something expendable, like a—a mere finger. Why not something useful, like a…” He thought back to his conversation with Fortress Maximus, when they’d been making plans to eliminate Overlord. A blade of ununtrium to kill a beast of ununtrium. “Like a knife? A small enough knife would use no more ununtrium than a finger—and if the process was successful, we’d have a spare weapon to use against any Phase Sixers or Warriors Elite.”

Tarantulas

> So Prowl  _hadn’t_  wanted an answer? …He hadn’t asked directly, that was true. Tarantulas really ought to pay attention more to conversational detail - slip-ups like this were going to get him in trouble in no time if he wasn’t careful.
> 
> “I wouldn’t  _literally_  use a finger,” Tarantulas replied, almost offended. “But a knife would be reasonable enough on both fronts… Though, attempting to hone such a knife would be futile, so it’d have to be constructed with the edge in place - but how exactly we’d do that depends on the details of the ununtrium application technique in the  _first_ place, and exactly how sharp you’d want it to be… But yes, certainly - it’s not impossible, and better than an idle sample.”

Prowl

> “We can worry about that part once we know what the ununtrium application technique  _is._  But, yes—something better than an idle sample. Whatever that ‘something’ may be, blade or otherwise.”

Tarantulas

> “I’ll be sure to take it into consideration.” A pause. “…Of course, there’s a possibility we might not actually discover ‘ _the_ ’ application technique, but could stumble upon an alternate method, in which case… I’d rather know  _both_ , so it’d make sense to prioritize finding the original first.”

Prowl

> Prowl nodded. “Right. Plan A. Go ask Black Shadow about the original.”
> 
> He sat back, took the third datapad he’d laid out, and started typing notes on it. “Does that cover everything, then? Are we ready to adjourn and get to work?”

Tarantulas

> “I - don’t know. Let me think.”
> 
> Was that really it? Was this all their interactions were ever going to be anymore, just… work? Not only was it boring, it was - well,  _devastating_  would be an exaggeration, but it was definitely something just short of that.
> 
> “…Is it permissible for allies to discuss anything other than work? What  _can_  allies do?”

Prowl

> Prowl gave Tarantulas a wary look, then lowered his gaze back to his datapad. “We’re here for Springer. Let’s not get off topic.”

Tarantulas

> “So apparently allies can only have one-topic conversations, then.” That definitely wasn’t sarcastic at all. 
> 
> Alright, now to grasp around for anything to make the conversation last even a tiny bit longer. “…This probably matters very little, but do you have the ununtrium immediately available to you?”

Prowl

> “Stop.” Bad enough that Tarantulas didn’t want to be friends, now Prowl was getting snark for trying to stick to it.
> 
> “It’s not  _here,_  if that’s what you mean. I can give you the coordinates so you can retrieve it yourself.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas started to say something, then stopped himself. Was it worth it, pushing Prowl so soon after their previous mangled interaction? As much as Tarantulas needed an outlet for his frustration, Prowl himself would be one hell of a counterproductive scapegoat.
> 
> “That might be a utile option - and likely a more secure one. Where is it that you’re keeping it, then?”

Prowl

> Good. At least he wasn’t fighting it.
> 
> Ping. Coordinates. “Open a bridge at  _exactly_  these coordinates. It leads into a sealed cave—I don’t suggest staying in there long, the air hasn’t been circulated with the outside since Cybertron was reborn. There’s a canister fifteen feet north of the coordinates.”

Tarantulas

> A nod as Tarantulas saved the coordinates. “Rest assured, I won’t do anything with it until I know more about the application process - and I’m assuming I ought to clear things with you first as well.
> 
> “…What level of oversight are you planning on implementing in this relationship? That is, how much autonomy are you giving me to make my own decisions and such?”

Prowl

> “I’d appreciate if you’d update me after any serious progress and before any major experiments or procedures. But the science is your department.” Tarantulas knew what was at stake and what they had to work with—every drop of ununtrium that he spent on tests and experiments was one less drop protecting Springer’s spark.
> 
> Prowl gave the question a moment of thought. Finally, he said, “Don’t do anything that is or ought to be illegal and don’t make any enemies.” So. Quite a bit of autonomy. “And don’t do anything that will make me regret giving you that much freedom.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl might think he was giving Tarantulas plenty of room to work with, but the restriction on potential illegality… well. Tarantulas should have expected it, but so much of his work relied on questionable acquisitions and decisions. He’d have to take care to either curb that practice or hide it thoroughly… or brush up on local laws and loopholes.
> 
> However, he was aware Prowl thought he was being generous, so he hummed in imitation of appreciation. “Agreeable terms - even though the last one’s a  _tad_ blurry, but I get the gist.”

Prowl

> “‘Blurry’?” Prowl lowered his datapad, glancing up at Tarantulas. “How so?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas seemed a little bemused. “I might be able to  _assume_ , but I can’t know precisely what would or wouldn’t make you regret giving me leeway, can I? I’m not saying this in order to get out of responsibility for the terms - to the contrary, actually. I mean to point out that it probably covers  _more_ than you think it does, since I’ll be sure to err on the side of caution with regards to any blurriness.”

Prowl

> “I’d  _like_  you to err on the side of caution. But if you’re uncertain on a point, comm me to check. I want to be kept in the loop, anyway.”
> 
> A pause. Prowl’s been running a few more calculations on the guidelines he gave Tarantulas. And… “Let me revise my guidelines.  _Victimless_  crimes only. And run them by me first when you can. Anything higher than that, definitely get my approval first.”
> 
> Four million years of war and he still hates such compromises, no matter how small. But if  _anybody_  understood how necessary they were, it was him. If that was the price to save Springer and get someone who could survive a Phase Sixer’s assault…

Tarantulas

> “Fair enough. I’ll just presume I ought to contact you if there’s any doubt.” Which there probably wouldn’t be - Tarantulas either already knew he was doing something wrong, or he was completely clueless.

Prowl

> A small nod. “That should be adequate. If it isn’t, we’ll have to work on that in the future.”

Tarantulas

> “Hopefully it is.” It had  _better_  be. It felt as if they had rule sets stacking up now, and Tarantulas didn’t need more amendments to add to the pile.
> 
> After a moment, he gave a wry visor smile. “…Goodness, what a project to kick things off with. You’d think we’d ease in with a trial run, something a little less momentous than this.”

Prowl

> Prowl snorted, corner of his mouth twitching. “If you’re worried, I’m sure we can track down a bunsen burner and see if we can turn the flame green. But I think we can handle skipping past the basics.”

Tarantulas

> Ah, the pleased relief of well-received levity. Now, if only Tarantulas knew how to get Prowl to react like this more reliably…
> 
> “I’d think  _you_  would be the one worried, but if you aren’t, I surely shouldn’t be.” There are a few ways Prowl can take that, and Tarantulas probably means all of them. “In any case, I’m not against diving right in. It’s not strictly time-sensitive, but the sooner we act, the better.”

Prowl

> “I know your work. And I know you’re not going to cut corners on Springer or treat him like an expendable test subject.”

Tarantulas

> A brief moment of depersonalization - Tarantulas would never quite get used to living in the same resonant frequency as his alternate. Whose work was ‘yours’? Who was treating whom like what? But - it was all useless chatter. Tarantulas forcibly grounded himself so he could respond.
> 
> “No, certainly not… not with Ostaros.” But never Springer, mind you - always Ostaros, and always spoken with such weighty affection.

Prowl

> Even excluding all of Mesothulas’s work that Prowl can’t confirm Tarantulas also did, Prowl still knows enough about Tarantulas’s work to fairly make that statement.
> 
> Was there anything to add to this tangent? No—Prowl didn’t think so. “If that’s all, I won’t keep you. We both have a lot of work to do.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas whined internally. Again, was this  _really_  it? He’d come to expect more from their interactions - more banter or debate, if nothing else. Maybe that’s what friends were; maybe that’s what Prowl had meant to convey…? The silent whining soured into grumbles. It wasn’t  _that_  simple…
> 
> “Yes, I - suppose so. I’ll comm you if there’s anything I’ve forgotten. I anticipate talking with Black Shadow within… hm, maybe a few days, since it’s been a while. I’d prefer things come up organically, so I can’t be sure.”

Prowl

> Prowl had come to expect more, too. Talking solely about business, without any socialization, felt hollow.
> 
> Perhaps that was better. Better to feel like the exchange was empty than to feel like it was filled with something horrible.
> 
> Nod. “In the meantime, you can get to work going over your files. Maybe researching zero points.”

Tarantulas

> “ _Adding_  to my research on zero points,” Tarantulas corrected him. He’d been working on things in his off-time, as you do.
> 
> His gaze flitted between the datapads in his claws and up at Prowl. He didn’t want to leave.  _He didn’t want to leave_. The sentiment was almost tangible - but was there anything he could do about it…?
> 
> “I - very well. Shall I see myself out, then?” A half-sparked chuckle.

Prowl

> “Adding to,” Prowl amended.
> 
> He nodded. “Please.” So long as they had nothing else to discuss, there was no reason for Tarantulas to be here.

Tarantulas

> _Please_. The word pained Tarantulas so.
> 
> But that was that - he’d been explicitly told he ought to go. Tarantulas rose from his seat with a tiny defeated sigh. “Until next time.”
> 
> And unless Prowl stopped him for any reason, he was off again, whisking himself away through the vents to go burrow himself in his blanketed hammock.

Prowl

> A nod. “Keep me updated.”
> 
> He waited until Tarantulas was gone. And then, finally, let himself softly sigh.
> 
> There. There. It was done. That had gone well, right?


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas shares an update; Prowl has one as well.

Tarantulas

> «I've news and a name for you concerning our dear Shady friend, if you have a moment.»

Prowl

> He’ll  _make_  a moment. «What do you have?»

Tarantulas

> «The news is that I’m currently reading Black Shadow’s medical file in preparation for a checkup appointment with him tomorrow. And the name? _Rossum_. He was Black Shadow’s previous medic - and based on what I’ve read so far, I’m  _highly_  inclined to believe he was the one involved in the Phase Six procedures.»

Prowl

> «Really…» Huh… not among the names Prowl would have put at the top of the list. «Rossum’s trinity Rossum? I’m afraid I don’t know much about him, besides that and the fact that he joined the Decepticons.» Time to change that, Prowl supposed. «What have  _you_  read? What’s it say about his work?»

Tarantulas

> «Yes, the very same. I know of his prewar work, but nothing after he joined the Decepticons - and the file isn’t very forthcoming with information either. They’ve left out all the juicy bits, referring to them as  _procedure 1/2/3_ etc.,  _upgrades_ , that sort of thing, and that’s if the data isn’t blacked out in the first place. It’s - quite frustrating, to say the least.
> 
> «Honestly I’m much more hopeful about the exam. I’ll be able to use as much of my lab equipment as I can feasibly get away with… although Black Shadow does seem nervous about the whole scenario, so I’ll have to tread carefully.» 

Prowl

> «I don’t think we have much intel on him, but I’ll see what we can dig up. Proceed with the exam. Carefully. It won’t do anyone any good if you spook him and he crushes you.
> 
> «But, go ahead and send me the file you have. It might be possible to figure out what the blacked out information is. Is the file physical or digital?»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, I don’t intend on being crushed. Not my kink, to say the least.» A bit of mild snickering. He’s not kinkshaming, mind you - he’s just being honest.
> 
> «It’s digital - but I have a physical cartridge containing it. Would you like me to ping you the file?» 

Prowl

> «I doubt that Black Shadow will be interested in hearing whether you consent to being crushed before he does it.
> 
> «Send me the digital file now, but bring the cartridge the next time you come. It may be possible to dig out previous uncensored versions of the file, or scraps of other files that used to be stored on the cartridge.» A pause. «Actually… no. Keep it. There’s someone better we can hand the cartridge to. Speaking of which—there has been an unexpected development outside my control.»

Tarantulas

> A little more snickering and a short sigh. Yes yes, he got the point.
> 
> Ping - and now Prowl had Black Shadow’s medical file, along with a short overlying document with Tarantulas’ preliminary notes. There really wasn’t anything spectacular about it all as far as Tarantulas could tell.
> 
> Suddenly Tarantulas felt wary - but if Prowl hadn’t mentioned it until now, it couldn’t be  _that_  important, could it? «…Who might you be speaking of, what is the development, and how are the two related?» 

Prowl

> Prowl glanced over the file, and saved it to review more thoroughly later.
> 
> «It’s Soundwave—and that’s the development. A former Wrecker has decided to take it upon himself to resurrect Springer, and has asked Soundwave to help. Soundwave, naturally, informed me. He has proposed that we work together.
> 
> «The ex-Wrecker in question—Whirl—is as stubborn and obnoxious as they come. He will  _not_  be content to be told to sit aside like a good bot while the professionals take care of Springer. Either we can let him tag along and feel like he’s contributed something, or we resign ourselves to butting heads and working at cross purposes with him for the entire process of upgrading and reviving Springer, all while trying not to attract the Wreckers’ attention. There is no viable third option. And if we  _do_  join up with them, we gain Soundwave’s surveillance and communications expertise, and Whirl’s knowledge of Debris and its security.
> 
> «Whirl will be annoyance, but a beneficial one; and we can’t afford to have him as an enemy. I propose we accept the alliance.»
> 
> Prowl had considered explaining to Tarantulas that Whirl tried to kill Springer—but no. All that would do was permanently turn Tarantulas against Whirl, and then they’d have to be trying to dodge Whirl and the risk that he would expose Prowl and Tarantulas’s work to the Wreckers. The risk wasn’t worth taking. Better not to bring it up.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas immediately had to suppress a protective urge at the mention of anyone thinking of messing with his Ostaros. This was  _his_  project,  _his_ creation (well, an alternate one),  _his_ responsibility… but he had to hear this out before he rejected whatever it was outright.
> 
> Ah. Whirl. Whirl wanted Soundwave to help revive Ostaros. The way Prowl worded things pacified Tarantulas somewhat - the way he emphasized the ‘professionals’ bit, maybe - but he was still leery of the prospect. Alright, quash the possessiveness for a moment and think logically about it…
> 
> «I’m… not terribly concerned about Whirl’s presence. We’re acquainted; it oughtn’t be a problem to have him around. However, I don’t understand why Whirl contacted  _Soundwave_  of all people. They’re both aware that the difficulty is a  _physical_  phenomenon, not a psychological one? …Well, as far as I’m aware, but still. There may be something aside from the zero point, but a zero point absolutely takes precedence. It makes no sense to even  _try_  poking around in Ostaros’ processor until we’ve fully resuscitated his systems.»

Prowl

> Ah. Good. Tarantulas wasn’t fighting.
> 
> «I don’t know. Because Whirl assumes everything else has been tried so it can’t hurt to try something that won’t work? He’s not entirely rational. If you’re acquainted, you know that. Whirl is being foolish—we may as well take advantage of that.»

Tarantulas

> «We may as well, yes, but it - it still boggles my mind that someone would  entertain the idea of subjecting Ostaros to something he  _clearly_ doesn’t need to undergo. Humoring Whirl might be… mildly vexing for me, if that sort of logic persists. Is Soundwave of the same mind? That is, is he aware his services are most likely  _not_  required in this case?» 
> 
> A moment’s pause, then he added: «…What are Whirl’s motives in this, might I ask? And Soundwave’s?»

Prowl

> «Yes, Soundwave is aware it’s foolish. If Whirl tags along, all we have to do is solve the problem first, and then he’ll have no reason to persist in asking Soundwave to fix things.
> 
> «Whirl’s motive is—is loyalty. He greatly admires and respects Springer; he was a good leader to Whirl. And to all the Wreckers. Of course, tell Whirl to his face that that’s his motive and he’ll deny it completely, but that would be a lie. Soundwave’s motive is primarily business—Whirl has promised that he will owe Soundwave a massive debt for trying to help, even if it doesn’t work—and partially a desire to support my goals as my ally. The promise of Whirl’s debt is why he’s willing to try even if it’s entirely unnecessary. I would much rather he assist us in more productive ways and stay out of Springer’s head, and doing so would still let him earn Whirl’s debt.»

Tarantulas

> Of  _course_  Ostaros had been a good leader to the Wreckers. He was  _Ostaros_ , and even though he hadn’t taken the path Tarantulas had wanted for him, he’d still always be stellar at whatever he did.
> 
> «So long as we’re  _completely_  sure that’s what Whirl’s motives are… he’s permitted to ‘assist’ our efforts. No interfering in the actual physical processes, and if he becomes overbearing or a liability in any fashion, he  _must_  be cut loose - but it’d be foolish not to keep him in the loop otherwise, since our end goals are the same.
> 
> «And if you trust Soundwave, I - have no reason not to trust him as well. Just, no deep telepathy, unless it’s  _absolutely_  necessary, and I see no reason whatsoever why it should be.» 

Prowl

> «Soundwave has checked inside Whirl’s head and reassured me of his motives. I wouldn’t have trusted it if Whirl had claimed any of those motives himself—but I do trust Soundwave’s judgment on it. It might take a little persuading to convince him to stay on the sidelines, but if we adequately explain to him what we’re doing and why he’s no help in it, it may convince him. He’s not wholly unreasonable—just mostly.
> 
> «And, yes. I…» A moment of hesitation. «I  _do_  trust Soundwave.» It was unexpectedly hard to say. Not because it wasn’t true—but because it  _was._  Even with that little part of Prowl’s mind that wondered, that  _had_  to wonder, whether he trusted because Soundwave had  _made_  him trust… it was still there. But—but that was something that could be examined later. It was irrelevant now. «I see no reason why deep telepathy would be needed either.»

Tarantulas

> «Ah, I see. And I’ve no qualms about updating him on progress as well, but again - no interference.» Tarantulas had had too many plans fail on him because of outside parties meddling in his affairs.
> 
> He did notice the hesitation but said nothing of it - as suspicious as it might’ve sounded, Tarantulas was still inclined to believe him. «Very well. I… suppose this means we’re joining forces now, so to speak. Hopefully they’re not looking for much immediate action - Black Shadow’s exam may be tomorrow, but research won’t come to fruition as readily as Whirl might like, I’d imagine. Unless we can dredge up something about Rossum and his relevant work, but even then.»

Prowl

> «I suppose we have. Which means we’ll need to have a meeting with them sometime soon, I expect. Shall I contact Soundwave to arrange one? They need to be updated on what we’re up to, unfortunately.»

Tarantulas

> A vaguely displeased noise from Tarantulas, but he acquiesced. «Yes, sooner rather than later. If they have any information that would be of use I’d rather have it promptly.»

Prowl

> «All right. I’ll speak to him. What should I offer as your availability? Obviously, tomorrow isn’t an option.»

Tarantulas

> When  _did_  he have time? «Give - give me a moment and I’ll scrounge up a schedule.» He really should’ve had one lying around in the first place…
> 
> Eventually he pinged one over, a mess of overlapping project demands that somehow still left open spaces here and there for meeting time. Coincidentally, sooner did fit things better than later after all.

Prowl

> «… Really?» Tarantulas? With a schedule?
> 
> Huh. Look at that. He  _did_  have one. Prowl placed his own over it and started looking for gaps. «Very well. Do you have anything you can reschedule in case Whirl’s or Soundwave’s schedules don’t work with yours?»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, don’t sound so incredulous. I’m  _trying_  to be responsible here.» Or trying to look like he was. «Hmn… not really, no. But projects are bound to unmoor and slide around anyway, you might as well just ping me in that case.»

Prowl

> _Is an alarm clock coming in the future?_
> 
> … No. Don’t say that. Too… jokey. Too friendly.
> 
> «All right. I’ll let you know.»

Tarantulas

> If only they actually  _could_  banter.
> 
> «Appreciated.» A pause, a silent sigh. «…Is there anything else, or ought I get back to the files?» 

Prowl

> «I suppose that’s all for now. Thank you for the update.»

Tarantulas

> «Of course. Until next time.»
> 
> Primus, that felt so  _formal_.

Prowl

> It did.
> 
> It was a marked improvement.
> 
> A farewell ping.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the little things that count, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's currently unfinished/ongoing, jsyk.

Tarantulas

> It’s hard to say how often Tarantulas thought of Prowl - mostly because there’d be no amount of time to measure it by. Days for Tarantulas were interminable, blurred around the edges, dotted by naps, and bound together by no definable routine. Things happened at their own spastic pace, and the occurrence of thoughts like these was no exception.
> 
> The lack of measurement tool didn’t negate the fact it happened a lot, though. Tarantulas wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but… well, it happened.
> 
> For example, take the moment he woke up. A stretch, a sideways twist, and he slid out of his hammock - and out of the corner of his visor he spied the glow of a kalish aura across the room. Ah, the obtenteum equipment he’d left to soak. Nothing to fret over. But… what  _would_  Prowl look like with kalish detailing…

Prowl

> Prowl, on the other hand, if he so chose, could very easily quantify the number of times he thought about Tarantulas on average in a day. His life was clockwork, his schedule rigid, his every second accounted for. His work, his sleep his leisure, all were carefully choreographed; he privately filed reports about his dreams; he wrote notes to himself about his notes to himself. He could easily sum up the number of times he thought about Tarantulas in a day, if he wanted to.
> 
> He didn’t want to.
> 
> He didn’t want to think about how often he thought about Tarantulas. He didn’t want to think about Tarantulas, period. He wanted him out of his mind. But, like a true spider, Tarantulas found ways to creep between the cracks anyway.
> 
> Today, the first reminder came from the energon dispenser. When Prowl had learned that Tarantulas had tampered with it without their knowledge, they’d insisted on “accidentally” breaking it so it would have to be replaced. The faint off-color outline around the spot where the tampered-with dispenser had sat was still visible. As Prowl filled an energon cube, he stared at that line. His thoughts bounced idly between the tests that Mixmaster still had to do to make sure Tarantulas hadn’t put anything in their energon that might adulterate their systems—and memories of the marvelous potions Mesothulas had once brewed up. With proper motivation and with so much more experience, what could Tarantulas…?
> 
> He banished the thoughts as the cube filled up, and focused on the tests instead. Those were more important.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ refueling experience wasn’t without its own reminders as well.
> 
> He was coding the next step of the cellular automata AI project when the alert popped up in his visor -  _CRITICAL: FUEL LEVELS AT 10%_  - and wouldn’t leave. He’d programmed it to stubbornly stick to his HUD until the percentage surpassed 25% again, and for good reason; he generally swiped away such alerts for the sake of his work, telling himself he’d get around to it later.
> 
> Prowl’s Mesothulas hadn’t had the chance to get around to it later. That was the essence of why Tarantulas was able to even be here in the first place. But what if Tarantulas  _hadn’t_  come along and replaced him? What would Prowl be like then, what would he be up to?
> 
> …Nothing different, Tarantulas supposed. Living with the Constructicons, working on Metroplex, communicating with the multiverse, pretty much conducting business as usual…
> 
> But he’d probably be happier, without Tarantulas.
> 
> The HUD alert flashed insistently at him, cutting off his train of thought. Energon. He needed energon. Don’t - no need to dwell on unrealities.

Prowl

> Prowl’s next reminder came ten minutes before they had to head out to work. He was checking the latest article about their work site—a bit of good press. The comments, however… Some of them could peel paint.
> 
> What had Tarantulas said? Something about how Prowl shouldn’t be reading this. Something about how it was bad for Prowl’s morale. Did Tarantulas really care, Prowl wondered, or did Tarantulas just want Prowl to put the datapad away and pay attention to him?
> 
> … He probably meant it. He probably cared about keeping Prowl from things that might make him unnecessarily upset.
> 
> Probably. Not definitely.
> 
> Focus. He had to get through these comments. They were as vitriolic as ever, but there were fewer of them. That was good. They were making progress.

Tarantulas

> It was unavoidable - there was no way to work on reviving Ostaros without thinking of Prowl as well. He was implied in every facet of the research and testing, from the medical scans of Ostaros’ brain module to the tone in Prowl’s voice whenever he spoke of him.
> 
> Prowl seemed so… so intent on waking Ostaros. Something in that stirred a warmth in Tarantulas’ chest. Maybe Prowl’s motivations weren’t exactly the same sort of possessive affection that Tarantulas held for his creation (and all his alternates, really), but it _had_  to be something similar, some sort of - well, not so much a parental urge as it was a sort of responsibility or caring sentiment. It was unexpectedly touching, knowing that was there, tucked away in Prowl’s spark.
> 
> And maybe it belied an inkling of the sort of emotion Prowl felt toward his native Mesothulas… and consequently, possibly even for Tarantulas himself. If not now, then… one day. One day.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet another unresolved comedy of errors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initial meme request: _State 8 facts about your Frame-type._

Tarantulas

> “Why not begin with the simplest of facts? For example:
> 
>   1. I’m a chimeracon of my own making with the capacity to mass-shift both up and down in size, and my base-size root mode is precisely thirty-two feet tall.
>   2. Despite appearances, I function with eighteen optics, twelve limbs, sixteen magna clamps, and sixteen blasters on my person at all times.
>   3. My claws in root mode are my chelicerae and pedipalps in spider mode.
>   4. I do  _not_ ‘crunch’ under pressure, unlike my organic lookalikes - in fact, this exoskeleton has the capacity to be harder, stronger, and more durable than the average mech’s plating, thank you very much.
>   5. However, I  _can_ still molt my exoskeleton when in spider mode.
>   6. Technically I have thirty-seven body modifications, if you count things together in sets such as ‘helm optics’ and ‘embedded spinnerets’.
>   7. My transformation sequence is 0.124 seconds faster than the Cybertronian average.
>   8. And finally? I’m  _gorgeous_.”
> 


Anonymous Comment

> @ fact #8: Well gosh, state the obvious why don't you. :)

Tarantulas

> “You know, some people might just miss that aspect of me, hyeh. That is, unless all those stares were actually  _amazement at my beauty_  instead of  _blank horror_.”
> 
> …Hah. Well. Scrap. That sure took an unexpectedly depressing turn.

Prowl

> «For the record, only the first stare qualified as "blank horror." Any subsequent staring was... nnnot that.»

Tarantulas

> A comm? From Prowl? Completely unprompted and not related to business in any way, shape, or form? Give Tarantulas a moment to tackle that amazing thought, then process what Prowl was actually saying.
> 
> «…You’re begging the question - if not  _that_ , then -  _what_?»
> 
> Even thought he had absolutely no idea what was going on, Tarantulas had the feeling he’d end up paying for this somehow.

Prowl

> A moment of silence.
> 
> «… Good-bye.»
> 
> Prowl hangs up.
> 
> Prowl calls back.
> 
> «I’m sorry, we promised we weren’t going to do that anymore. Allow me to rephrase: I’m not going to answer. Good-bye.»
> 
> Prowl hangs up.

Tarantulas

> What in the - what  _was_  that? Tarantulas felt like he’d been doubly smacked by a revolving door. What was he supposed to do, comm Prowl back, or just pretend it’d been yet another daydream?
> 
> «I - you can’t just  _do_  that, Prowl. Not the not-answering, I mean the - the -
> 
> «…Nevermind. I’ll - talk to you another time.»
> 
> Now it’s Tarantulas’ turn to hang up.

Prowl

> … Dammit.
> 
> Prowl calls back. «I can’t do what?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas buried his face in his claws.
> 
> «You can’t -  _beg questions_  like that. Especially if you know you’re not going to answer them. No  _baiting_. It’s - unfair.»

Prowl

> A long silence.
> 
> «… That’s not what begging the question means. Begging the question is a fallacy of circular reasoning, in which the conclusion of a premise is contained in the premise itself.»
> 
> He’s not dodging. He’s stalling for time.
> 
> «Anyway, I was—I’d think—the, the answer is, er. Can be deduced, from the evidence at hand.»

Tarantulas

> «Yes - but put in layman’s terms, _begging the question_  is ignoring a question by assuming it’s already been answered.» [A citation ping](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.merriam-webster.com%2Fwords-at-play%2Fbeg-the-question&t=YzgwOWQ3OWNmMmI3ZDA5MGQzOTYzODdkNTM4YTZhNmI1OThiZmIxNSxRekRPVTdiRA%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F157477747119%2Ffor-the-record-only-the-first-stare-qualified-as&m=1). «Which is  _exactly_ what you’re doing. And it’s currently obfuscating something that wasn’t even clear to begin with - which is what we agreed to  _ban_.» 
> 
> No wiggling out of this one, Prowl.

Prowl

> «I’m not using the layman’s term. I don’t like layman’s terms.»
> 
> A moment of silence. «… Fine. Then next time I won’t say anything. Good-bye.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re  _mishandling_  the -»
> 
> …Scrap.
> 
> «I - no, next time you simply ought to  - use a better  _format_.»

Prowl

> «Not worth it.»

Tarantulas

> «…I - now that’s just  _rude_.»

Prowl

> «No. It's—because it didn’t  _work._  If it—if all you got out of it is I’m being obtuse and, begging questions… Then it’s not worth it. I have wasted both our time. Sorry.»

Tarantulas

> «Then don’t -» A series of indistinct background noises. «…That’s why I said a different  _format._  But if it’s not worth it to you then I’m certainly not going to push the subject.»

Prowl

> « _This is the format I talk in._
> 
> «Forget it.»
> 
> Next time Tarantulas is upset, Prowl’s letting him deal with it himself. They’re not friends. Prowl shouldn’t try to act like one.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas made a tiny choked sound. It almost felt as if Prowl was  _deliberately_  misinterpreting him. But what could he do about it? Practically nothing, not without fumbling everything all over again.
> 
> «…Fine.»
> 
> If Prowl doesn’t reply within a few seconds, Tarantulas is just going to let the line go dead.

Prowl

> Deliberately? No. He thinks that’s exactly what Tarantulas is saying.
> 
> «… Goodbye. I’m sorry I wasted your time.»
> 
> That’s it.

Tarantulas

> …Was it wasted? Tarantulas would have to think on that one.
> 
> After a moment, Prowl gets a ping goodbye. 

Prowl

> Ping.
> 
> Prowl hangs up.


	35. Operation: SPOGNER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whirl elaborates; Prowl critiques; Tarantulas expounds; Soundwave mediates. Not-a-good-time is had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is present in holo only. Also, ignore Soundwave's text formatting, technically he's speaking telepathically to Whirl and sending txt to Prowl and Tarantulas (long story), so [[]] and (txt) mean the same thing.

Soundwave: *Soundwave has already sealed off everything possible to prevent Tarantulas getting into things he shouldn't. Now he waits for the others to arrive, greet, and arrange themselves in the chairs he has thoughtfully set for their particular builds. The club is quiet and dimly lit - darker than the corridors of the Nemesis, even - and two cubes rest on the table. One is a Gaugebuster for Whirl. The other is natural blue energon, which Tarantulas may discard, keep, or drink as he likes. For Prowl and himself, nothing. The video wall is activated, but remains blank.*

Whirl: *Whirl's not just punctual--he's early. Upon entering, he bobs his helm to Soundwave and glances about before taking a seat, snorting, and storing the Gaugebuster in his subspace. He's not drinking tonight. His expression is carefully blank, but Soundwave will have no trouble "overhearing" his nervousness. If this is actually some kind of colossal trap, then tonight's the night it's most likely to be tripped, and he knows it. Silently he sits, crossing his legs, and waiting.*

FakeProwl: *Prowl arrives when Soundwave said they should show up, almost to the second. He's already finished reviewing and re-reviewing all his notes, and has just been semi-anxiously passing time until the meeting. But, when he shows up, he's perfectly calm, face perfectly blank. As usual. A polite nod to Soundwave; a polite but wary nod to Whirl.*

Soundwave: *Nods to both guests, then folds his servos on his lap and places a loading symbol on his screen while he waits for their missing guest.*

Whirl: *nods back at Prowl, stiffly*

FakeProwl: *of course Tarantulas is the holdup. Prowl pings him to make sure he's still showing up.*

Tarantulas: *Prowl gets a ping back, but no comm. A minute or so later Tarantulas shows up late (no Starbucks, sadly). He seems a little frazzled - he'd been busying himself with experiments, and one of them backfired on him recently, literally. A nice patch of his shoulder fur is singed off. Nodding and greeting them appropriately, takes his respective seat, examines the energon, and proceeds to pull out additive dust to add to the liquid*

Soundwave: *Takes extra note of the burned patch and the dust, to examine later*

FakeProwl: *about time. sideways glance/nod at Tarantulas as he sits.*

FakeProwl: *... double-takes. tarantulas what did you DO*

Whirl: *makes a soft huffing noise and breaks the silence at last* You REEK, mech.

Soundwave: *Ravage makes the same complaint to Soundwave from upstairs a moment later*

Tarantulas: *squinting at Whirl* Well, that's /one/ way to greet someone, I suppose.

Soundwave: *He decides not to share that.*

Whirl: *shrugs* It's the truth. But yes. Anyway. Hi. *glances to the assorted mecha* Well, we all know why we're here.

FakeProwl: *still staring at the singed fur. what happened. how bad is it. how far down does it go. did he burn his flesh. is he in pain.*

Tarantulas: *Tarantulas doesn't notice the staring, also doesn't seem to pay any attention to the injury*

Soundwave: (txt): Correct. Discussion initiation volunteer?

Tarantulas: I certainly hope we do. For - *a pause. not Ostaros* - for Springer. Personally, I vote Whirl ought to go first - chronologically he was the one to initiate things, am I not correct?

FakeProwl: *snorts*

FakeProwl: I've been working on waking him up since the moment I heard he was in stasis—but, sure. Why not. *slight nod to Whirl* Proceed.

Tarantulas: You know that's /not/ what I meant. *side-eye*

FakeProwl: Then you ought to have clarified. *does not side-eye*

FakeProwl: *also, 100% thought that was what Tarantulas meant.*

Tarantulas: *finishes mixing in additives, pulls out straw, gives a little more side-eye before sipping at the energon*

Whirl: Sure, sure. *waits for the side-eyeing to end before he continues* Well, I don't know how much Soundwave told you, but I don't have what you'd call a /nuanced/ plan.

FakeProwl: *bites back urge to say something sarcastic.*

FakeProwl: *yes. yes he knows.*

Whirl: Pretty much I just figured nothing else had worked, so trying Soundwave was worth a shot. It worked on me. I know--*holds up a claw* That me and Springer's situations aren't the same, of course.

Whirl: But... yeah. *shrugs* I can get in and out of Debris, if I wanted. Almost /certainly/ can do it undetected, especially /now./ But I've been told you, specifically--*looks to Tarantulas* Have some kind of insight into his physiology, but that's all I know.

Tarantulas: ...You never did mention exactly what happened with you, but I suppose now isn't the time to delve into that, unless it's relevant.

Whirl: And, no. It isn't.

Whirl: But I'm not gonna drop dead on you guys in the middle of things, if that's what you're worried about. *nods; he seems done for now*

Soundwave: *Don't look to Soundwave for more data on that one; he's keeping what he did to himself.*

Tarantulas: Mere curiosity - I'll suppress it for now. And yes, I do have Ost- Springer's medical files, as well as the medical files from my universe.

Whirl: *and Soundwave only has a vague knowledge of what's going in up in there*

Tarantulas: How much of his condition are you aware of, currently? *to whirl*

Whirl: I know that he's comatose because of a zero point they can't find. It happened right after Overlord chewed him up on Garrus-9. The thing is, aside from ripping off his face, there wasn't /that/ much damage to him when they brought him in. Not compared to other times. It's always struck me as a little weird, but... *shrugs*

Whirl: I know what a zero point is, and how it works, if that's what you're asking.

FakeProwl: If we can compare what Soundwave did for you to supergluing a piece back together, then what you have proposed, Whirl, is equivalent to saying "some super glue will hammer that dent out."

FakeProwl: So, while we appreciate your... desperation? eagerness?—I question how much you really understand how zero points work.

Whirl: I'm fully aware the problem might not be in his mind, Prowl. *swivels his helm to regard him; his optic remains round and expressionless*

Whirl: What we know about zero points would suggest it ISN'T.

FakeProwl: What we know about zero points suggests that it's a microscopic disruption in the spark's circulatory system. We can tell that his spark's circulation is disrupted. Ergo.

FakeProwl: It's a zero point.

Tarantulas: If the zero point has anything to do with his processor, it isn't something Soundwave can fix through telepathic contact. Of that, I'm certain.

Whirl: Thank you, Prowl, for telling me something I just /told/ you I already know.

Whirl: What would I ever do without you?

Whirl: See, I went to Soundwave because /nothing else/ anyone had tried had worked.

Tarantulas: *fur bristles a little, then back down. ouch. that hurt*

Whirl: I knew this might be a zero-sum game.

FakeProwl: You just expressed entirely unfounded doubts. I thought I would simplify it.

Whirl: But I figured it was worth a shot.

FakeProwl: And that's why I've brought Tarantulas on board. Because he has a /plethora/ of things that nobody else has tried—and, they actually address the problem at hand.

Whirl: Let's hear it, then. *looks to Tarantulas*

Tarantulas: That's - *looks at Prowl. that's not why he brought him on board, but... very well*

FakeProwl: *well he's not going to explain ALL the details. And what Prowl said is, technically, true.*

FakeProwl: *he can do things that nobody else does, and he won't be fiddling around in Springer's mind when the problem is with his spark system*

Soundwave: *Has his own opinions about what use his ability would be if the problem was somewhere in Springer's processor, but this, too, he'll keep to himself.*

Tarantulas: I've proposed a few things I can do - first of all, simply assessing the situation with my own medical devices and seeing if nothing comes up - which I doubt will work. However, I'm currently working on devising a method in which I could channel artificial spark energy between two given points in his system to determine the location of the zero point through trial and error. Once I know where the zero point is, it should be no trouble to fix from there.

Whirl: You /do/ know they completely rebuilt him, right?

Whirl: I mean, you seem confident enough, but what if you fail? What’re we gonna do then?

FakeProwl: Try something else.

Tarantulas: Precisely.

Whirl: What else've you got, in the way of those?

Tarantulas: ...Riskier things that may not pass muster.

FakeProwl: We'll prioritize the riskier things if we get to them.

Whirl: Mmm-hmm. All right. Here's mine:

Whirl: Like I said, I know what a zero point is. And, also like I said, I know the problem isn't the same as mine was. It's not in his brain. But before... I left Debris, back when me and Roadbuster were his caretakers, Rung actually came and saw us with a theory. He said that maybe provoking an emotional response would make Springer force his spark across the zero point. Now, we tried it - Roadbuster read to him /every day./ He said, once, he saw... something, but I think it might've been wishful thinking. But, if everything else DOES fail, that's... more or less what I figure Soundwave can do. If Springer's mind isn't gone, if he's still IN there, then the only person I can think to reach him... *nods towards Soundwave*

Whirl: I know how it sounds, before you tell me how stupid it is. I'm /aware./

FakeProwl: ... Hm. When all you have is a hammer, the whole world looks like nails.

FakeProwl: Brilliant as he is, I'm afraid that Rung's specialization in psychiatry may have led him to inappropriately look for psychiatric solutions to non-psychiatric problems.

Whirl: *rolls his optic, but doesn’t respond*

FakeProwl: I've found it's a common problem in psychological fields.

Whirl: I'm not saying we place all our bets on this one, but... *shrugs* Worth a shot.

FakeProwl: Be that as it may, though. As far as last resorts go, Soundwave is, a... not unreliable one to have.

Soundwave: *Small helm dip.*

Soundwave: (txt): This task, not unfamiliar.

FakeProwl: *where's Prowl looking? who knows, but it's not at Soundwave*

Whirl: True. *nods*

Whirl: *he was, after all, Whirl's last resort, recently*

Tarantulas: *squints* It's not a matter of forcing the energy over. That's one of the riskier things that I would have suggested if my current plans do not succeed.

Soundwave: *And several more times before.*

Tarantulas: But... as a last resort.

Whirl: Well, let's hope your plan succeeds, then.

FakeProwl: Perhaps we should keep Soundwave as a /lower/ resort, if not last.

FakeProwl: Plan B through Plan Whatever will be prioritized based on their probability of success—and their probability of causing worse damage.

Tarantulas: That's... reasonable.

FakeProwl: Soundwave can make his attempt /before/ we try the plans that could cause worse damage.

Tarantulas: This raises the question of group dynamics, however. If one of us disagrees with what the rest of us want to do, how are we going to proceed?

Whirl: I'd... guess vote? I mean, none of us here are /actually/ qualified to be making these decisions for him. So I'd guess we're all on equal ground.

Tarantulas: I - that... *Tarantulas has to quiet himself for a moment. He feels as if - if this were his Ostaros, it'd be his position. This is Prowl's though, so Prowl should take priority*

Tarantulas: *he'll let Prowl speak up if he wants, then*

FakeProwl: *Prowl can't exactly say he's more qualified, can he?*

Soundwave: *Considers this.*

FakeProwl: ... Tarantulas gets final say.

Whirl: What? No way.

FakeProwl: Medical treatment is not a democracy. Out of the four of us, he's the only one with medical experience—and /abundant/ experience, at that.

Soundwave: (txt): Soundwave, least say. Not colleague, not former authority figure, not medic.

Whirl: *swivels his helm to stare at Tarantulas* But you're not a medic--not REALLY.

Whirl: And Prowl might be willing to trust you on this, but frankly, mech, I don't even know why you're HERE.

Tarantulas: I /did/ go through medical schooling, yes.

FakeProwl: He built himself from scratch. Without accidentally giving /himself/ a zero point in the process.

Whirl: That only proves he's crazy, Prowl.

Whirl: *nods to Tarantulas* No offense.

Tarantulas: *hackles raise* I'm here because I have the expertise to save Ostaros, and that is - *pauses for prowl* - that. That as well.

Whirl: Who the FRAG is Ostaros?

Tarantulas: S-Springer. A slip of the glossa.

FakeProwl: *DAMMIT Tarantulas*

FakeProwl: We gave the project a code name, in case Starscream bugs my comms.

Whirl: *stares blankly at Tarantulas. There's absolutely no telling what he's thinking*

Whirl: Hell of a slip.

Whirl: ...regardless. I'm willing to defer to your judgment on medical matters. But I'm not going to just do everything you think we should if it has nothing to do with medicine.

Soundwave: [[That is why we are debating, and why plans are to be shared and approved -before- we reach Debris.]]

Tarantulas: *deep vent out* ...I'm not going to single-clawedly dictate the actions of this group, no.

FakeProwl: *dryly* And what, pray tell, do you think we're going to do that has nothing to do with medicine?

FakeProwl: We are here to resolve a medical issue. Nothing more, nothing less.

Soundwave: [[Break and enter into a facility, evade notice, perhaps fend off angry caretakers.]]

Whirl: Indirectly, sure, you can probably argue semantics and say everything traces BACK to it, but if he tells me to go out of the room when I don't want to, that's not gonna fly.

Soundwave: [[Springer cannot walk -here-, after all.]]

Whirl: There are a lot of decisions--when we strike, what we do about detection--that have nothing to do with medicine.

Whirl: *nods; thanks, Soundwave*

Tarantulas: If I request you leave the room for medical reasons, it's imperative you do so - but I'll make sure to indicate what is and isn't medical. Does that suffice?

Whirl: No promises.

Whirl: We'll have to see.

Soundwave: [[...Whirl.]]

Soundwave: [[Are there monitoring and recording devices in the room where he is kept?]]

Whirl: *shakes his head* That's the best I can give you. Period.

FakeProwl: *if it comes down to it and Whirl refuses to leave when he needs to, Prowl will eject him himself. Into the nearest sun, if necessary.*

Whirl: Yeah, petty basic stuff.

Whirl: *pretty

Soundwave: [[Then he will need to interfere with them. If Tarantulas requires the room to be vacated, he will feed the unedited content to his screen for you. Sufficient?]]

Whirl: Like I said--we'll see.

Soundwave: *Very well.*

FakeProwl: ... Permit me to add something before we proceed.

Tarantulas: *curious narrowed visor*

Whirl: Fire away.

FakeProwl: Despite what rumors about me would say to the contrary, I am not a vengeful person. I permit those rumors because I find them too hard to be worth combatting, and occasionally beneficial in my work.

FakeProwl: However. If you and your Wrecker-esque, authority-defying, do-what-I-want-and-damn-the-consequences attitude do ANYTHING to make Springer worse—I will end you.

FakeProwl: That's all. Proceed.

Tarantulas: *suddenly emotional. heck*

Whirl: *his optic narrows for the first time* You think I'm here at all because I want something BAD to happen to him? You think I'd get tangled up in YOUR dirty work if it wasn't worth it?

Whirl: I accept your terms, Prowl, and I'll give you some of my own: if I find out your sudden burst of altruism is really just a cover for some underhanded scheme to get Springer under your thumb, by whatever means you can--if you do anything to make him LESS than who he is, then I won't just end you; I'll destroy you.

FakeProwl: Fine.

FakeProwl: But my goals are more along the lines of making him MORE than who he is.

Whirl: Meaning?

FakeProwl: *all right. sits forward.* Repairing him is just the first half of my plans for him. The second half is ensuring that nothing like this can ever happen to him again.

Whirl: *as soon as he says "first half", Whirl shoots Soundwave a sidelong look that just says "what did I TELL you"*

Soundwave: *Soundwave lifts a servo. Wait. Hear Prowl out.*

FakeProwl: *Whirl hasn't started screaming yet. Prowl takes that as a good sign.* You may have noticed that mechs like Overlord and Tarn have been made damn near impossible to damage, much less kill.

FakeProwl: I intend to give Springer that same advantage.

Whirl: How, exactly?

FakeProwl: By replicating the process that made the Phase Sixers and Warriors Elite so invincible.

Whirl: *stares at Prowl for a few moments in silence before he waves with a claw, indicating him to go on*

Soundwave: *Is now also leaned forward just a bit.*

FakeProwl: Presently, we know the key necessary ingredient; we know who was behind the process, and can begin hunting out his notes and work and we've got a multiversal Phase Sixer who has unwittingly offered to let himself be very thoroughly examined.

FakeProwl: I have links to a Decepticon medic and Decepticon chemist who have links to the Decepticons' research, and can track down knowledge from inside enemy bases.

FakeProwl: And-- *tips head toward Tarantulas* I have Cybertron's leading expert on copying and improving upon other scientists' work.

Tarantulas: I - fair. *mutters something about doing his OWN work too gosh*

FakeProwl: *Prowl didn't say that was the ONLY thing you were an expert in, cmon*

Whirl: Send me 'em.

FakeProwl: ... Send you what?

Whirl: The information. The process. Every file you've got.

FakeProwl: ... What would you DO with it?

Whirl: Read it! I don't know how any of this is done!

FakeProwl: You'll hardly know when you've finished reading it. The primary documents presume millions of years of background in medicine and chemistry.

Tarantulas: No offense meant, but reading something and understanding something are two different things.

Whirl: Look, I just need to know the basics. I'm not saying I'll read it and be able to do it myself, but I'm not just gonna agree to something without getting some kind of basic idea of what to expect, here.

Tarantulas: Besides the fact that various files would be classified, and my notes would be nigh-on unintelligible to everyone in this room right now.

Whirl: Well, you'd better get to work translating them.

FakeProwl: Then we'll /explain/ the process to you. Obviously. But handing you the primary research materials would be useless to you and—frankly—pose a potential security risk.

Tarantulas: Is there any impediment keeping you from trusting us if we /tell/ you the summary?

Whirl: Oh, that's not suspicious at ALL.

Soundwave: [[We cannot claim that your three votes are equal and expect Whirl to deliver all -he- knows if the both of you cannot provide an easily understood yet detailed packet.]]

Whirl: *sidelong glance, a bit startled*

FakeProwl: Didn't we just say that we would provide something easily understood? If he wants detailed, he can get detailed.

FakeProwl: But there's no reason to hand him firsthand documents that he wouldn't be able to make sense of anyway, and plenty of reasons not to.

Whirl: You actually didn't, no.

FakeProwl: And I quote—"Then we'll explain the process to you."

Tarantulas: I /could/ come up with a packet, but you understand that making it sufficiently cited and detailed takes time away from research and progress toward waking Springer in the first place.

FakeProwl: And I quote Tarantulas—"Is there any impediment keeping you from trusting us if we tell you the summary?"

FakeProwl: We literally. Just said. That we would provide something easily understood.

Whirl: An explanation isn't--it's not nearly the same. You've got to give me something other than your word to back you up, here.

Whirl: And I. Don't trust. You to tell me the truth.

FakeProwl: *throws up hands* So the explanation will be a PACKET. For all the difference it makes.

Tarantulas: *face-claw*

Whirl: With some first-hand documentation.

Whirl: I'm not asking you to dump the secrets of the Decepticon army on me, here. I'm not even asking for MUCH, Primus.

FakeProwl: And I don't trust you not to take the firsthand documentation and leave them strewn all over Swerve's where they'll be scattered to three universes and the Lost Light gossip rag by the end of the day.

Whirl: *narrows his optic* I'm not an /idiot,/ Prowl.

FakeProwl: You're trying to fix a spark problem with mnemosurgery.

FakeProwl: I beg to differ.

Whirl: Hey, I didn't come up with the theory.

Soundwave: [[Then give the data to -him-. He will store it and give Whirl secure access through a means that cannot be strewn about.]]

FakeProwl: ... Fine. He can review it with you. But nothing leaves with him.

Whirl: Regardless, if you think I'm just so grossly and hugely incompetent that I'll leave secret documents for the highly illegal and secret mission I am risking my LIFE to accomplish at a BAR--

Whirl: Then why are you even here talking to me?

Whirl: Lord, BOTH of you, just--*shakes his head*

Soundwave: [[And -cease insulting each other-. We will not have time for this when we revive Springer. If you cannot work together now, you jeopardize the mission later.]]

FakeProwl: Because if we don't let you in on this, then you'll try to do it behind our back and ruin not only our own efforts, but your own. That's why I'm here talking to you.

Whirl: *the only person getting insulted here is WHIRL, thank u very much*

Whirl: *feel free to glean that nugget off his thoughts*

Whirl: You could easily dispose of me if you thought I was that big of a risk. Let's not kid ourselves, here.

Soundwave: [[You are also talking to him because he has information you need to ensure greater success. Do not forget that.]]

FakeProwl: No. He has a bonus that makes things a little bit easier.

Whirl: So, one way or another, since I'm apparently too incompetent to be trusted with data that I'm going to store in my own HEAD--*bitterly* Give me a basic rundown.

Whirl: *another sidelong glance at Soundwave*

Soundwave: *Finally returns this one. What.*

Whirl: *Whirl is just continually surprised that someone is sticking up for him*

Soundwave: *Prowl has a support piece right now and Soundwave will speak his mind when he feels the need.*

FakeProwl: *"support piece" is massively overstating tarantulas’s role right now.*

Whirl: *regardless, he's not being constantly doubted, belittled, and insulted, which is more than can be said for Whirl*

Whirl: *not that he didn't earn SOME skepticism on his own, but still*

FakeProwl: *and whirl overestimates how respectful he's being*

Whirl: *he's held his temper in remarkably well*

Whirl: *...relatively*

FakeProwl: *deep breath in; frazzled sigh. mainly for effect, since, y'know, hologram.* Right. We haven't finished all the work developing the procedure.

Soundwave: [[Whirl will also be strength in case of emergency. You will not be there to protect Tarantulas and you cannot defend yourself against Wreckers for long anyway.]]

FakeProwl: *flatly* We can put a space bridge in the doorway.

Soundwave: [[They are Wreckers. They do not need doorways.]]

Soundwave: [[And you cannot put up more than one bridge.]]

Tarantulas: There are ways around it - but if we /can/ utilize Whirl and maintain the arrangement we've already established, why not, then?

Soundwave: *Small servo wave. He's listening now.*

FakeProwl: If we're finished proposing increasingly remote probabilities to try to justify Whirl's presence.

Whirl: *antenna pins back, but his blank expression does not waver*

FakeProwl: Once the process has been developed, we will, of course, be testing it out on something that's /not/ Springer before testing it on Springer himself. The issue, then, is the procedure itself.

Tarantulas: *goes back to sipping energon and brooding. rgh*

Soundwave: *Strange. He thought Prowl -preferred- to account for increasingly remote probabilities.*

FakeProwl: *glances at Tarantulas. Your turn.*

Whirl: *swivels his helm to regard Tarantulas*

Tarantulas: *he only got one sip in, dangit*

FakeProwl: *Prowl doesn't do things that will endanger the most likely probabilities in hopes of canceling out a probability that is exceedingly unlikely to happen.*

FakeProwl: *inviting Whirl along in case of an unlikely Wrecker attack they can't avoid/stop is like walking around with a blindfold on just in case you need to protect your optics from an unexpected supernova*

Whirl: *that, but also if the blindfold had guns and an attitude problem*

Soundwave: *To be fair, he was trying very hard not to have to say "And I will lose out on this debt and be extremely cranky about it."*

FakeProwl: *hey, Prowl SAID Whirl can be involved. it's just that the reason is "you'll make everything worse if you don't." a reason's a reason.*

Soundwave: *Fair.*

Soundwave: *Well, if nothing else, he might've earned some points with Whirl. Or some suspicion. Honestly, he can work with both.*

Tarantulas: It's - yes. The process. I've already performed an exam on the Phase Sixer in question and determined what makes him - them - so invincible. Their entire protoform is coated in a particular metal, ununtrium, that's impenetrable to everything except itself. The procedure of applying that to Springer is what's in question, but now that I have the relative densities and volumes, I ought to be able to suss out the chemical makeup, which will lead to the actual details of the process.

Soundwave: *Tilts helm.*

FakeProwl: ... Speaking of. You know the size of our ununtrium cache. How much of him do you estimate we'll be able to cover with it?

Soundwave: [[You cannot give a sliver to Mixmaster?]]

FakeProwl: We can't remove a sliver.

Tarantulas: *a sigh* ...We'll probably only be able to cover the helm and torso, to be safe.

Whirl: So the process is, just, basically, stripping them down to protoform and dumping some kind of super-impenetrable metal on them?

Soundwave: *Ah. It's all in one piece, then. He nods.*

FakeProwl: ... Only that much?

Tarantulas: Yes and no. There's more than just adding the metal - applying ununtrium directly to the protoform would kill a mech under normal circumstances.

FakeProwl: Kill a—?! Under normal circumstances?!

Soundwave: *Oh, that'll go over well.*

FakeProwl: I hope you're working out how to create abnormal circumstances.

Tarantulas: Y-yes, you weren't aware? Of course that's what I'm doing.

FakeProwl: You hadn't explained yet that it might be /fatal./

Whirl: *shakes his head slowly, bringing one claw up to rub at the side of hiis helm*

Tarantulas: It /won't/ be.

Whirl: You two don't even know what you're -doing- yet.

FakeProwl: We said we hadn't finished the procedure.

Tarantulas: That's beside the point, Whirl - at least we have reasonable, logical /plans/ for it.

FakeProwl: This isn't a "finalize everything and get going" meeting, this is a progress meeting.

Whirl: *raises his head and lowers his claw* Fine. Then, figure it out, and get back to me, because I'm not going to tell you I'm fine with this. I'm not, right now.

Whirl: Not until I know more about it

FakeProwl: Did you not want to be involved in the progress meetings? Did you want to be left out until we'd finalized everything? I could have told Soundwave we wouldn't meet with you for another two months.

Whirl: That's not what I meant.

FakeProwl: Of course you're not fine with this. I'm not fine with this. He just said that the process might be fatal and he hasn't explained how to prevent that yet.

Tarantulas: I - I hadn't yet finished explaining, also, so whenever you're done being antagonistic about this, I can go on.

FakeProwl: That's why we have meetings. To update everyone on how things are going.

FakeProwl: Proceed, Tarantulas.

Whirl: Lord, Prowl, could you maybe just dial down the condescension for a second? Just ONE second? I'm just saying that I am not going to give my final verdict until you guys know what you're doing.

FakeProwl: Of course you aren't! Why would you?

Whirl: I had thought you were asking me that!

FakeProwl: No! We're having a meeting! You asked for the basic rundown!

FakeProwl: We're trying to give you what you asked for.

Whirl: I'd thought you'd have more for me that "This might kill him." And that I might be able to make SOME kinda decision off that.

FakeProwl: Well, if you would stop complaining and let Tarantulas CONTINUE.

Whirl: But--anyway, obviously Tarantulas just said--fine. Fine.

Whirl: *waves Tarantulas on*

Tarantulas: *suppresses heavy sigh* ...Very well.

Soundwave: *How is it listening to two Autobots can be so much like listening to Decepticon high command bickering?*

Soundwave: *Primus save him from authority figures and mechs who loathe them.*

FakeProwl: *Primus save Prowl from Wreckers*

Whirl: *Whirl's pretty much used to this sort of thing, he can handle it. Primus need not save him*

Tarantulas: Adding the proper liquid to a support capsule would counteract the majority of the heat-related damage, and determining the exact compound that the ununtrium forms when it interacts with the protoform will give the additional factors required for a successful coating. I've already got it narrowed down to a few hundred molecular structures, and once I get it down to a reasonable number I can begin lab testing with samples.

FakeProwl: ... What kind of reasonable number?

Tarantulas: I'm...it's... Less than twenty.

FakeProwl: ... Send your work to Mixmaster. He can help you narrow it down further than that.

FakeProwl: We want to have to do as little testing as possible.

Tarantulas: I'm not talking /large/ samples here, I'm talking microscopic levels!

Tarantulas: It'll barely detract from the main stores.

Tarantulas: *totally not why he doesn't want mixmaster involved*

FakeProwl: Send it to him anyway. He can help narrow it down faster.

FakeProwl: Microscopic or not, I don't want any ununtrium wasted we don't have to waste.

Tarantulas: ...Once I'm below eighty, the work slows doewn. I'll... transfer then.

FakeProwl: *nods. satisfactory.*

FakeProwl: So. Heat damage? Is that the only risk to Springer, that you know so far?

Tarantulas: Well, heat damage and chemical burns. There's a slim chance he might have an allergic reaction to the ununtrium, but that's a simple test given I have Springer's protoform makeup, so.

Whirl: *tilts his head, but says nothing*

Soundwave: *....On Soundwave's to-do list for the future, should Tarantulas stay alive long enough for it: Teach him to stop spilling details he shouldn't. Somehow.*

FakeProwl: And you think you can cancel out the heat danger? Without disturbing whatever temperature we need for the ununtrium to bond properly?

Tarantulas: Yes, and that's next on the list to tackle.

Tarantulas: That has more to do with the solution in the capsule than anything else.

FakeProwl: "Capsule"?

Tarantulas: *funny look* We'll need a - a tank, for lack of a better word. Capsule. I know there's another word for it, err....

FakeProwl: To put him in?

Tarantulas: Yes, that.

FakeProwl: ... That implies we won't be able to properly control where the ununtrium bonds to him. Is that consistent with what you've seen on your test subject—was the ununtrium bonded unevenly?

FakeProwl: *if it's just all floating around in a tank, some places would have to be thicker than others, right?*

Tarantulas: Nono, it bonded smoothly. Testing pending, I'm hypothesizing that's due to surface tension once the ununtrium gathers on the protoform.

Tarantulas: Attraction, smoothing, interaction, then it's bonded.

FakeProwl: How do we ensure that our limited amount bonds to his torso and head, then?

FakeProwl: Are we going to have to remove his arms and legs? And will we be able to reattach them once ununtrium's bonded to the connecting ports?

Tarantulas: We... /could/, but I'd prefer not to. I'll have to think on this one.

Tarantulas: Likely there's isolating units we could fit around unwanted areas.

Tarantulas: ...I don't... I'm not sure /now/ is the time to get into too much detail on speculative plans, is it?

Tarantulas: That's about the extent of what I'm familiar with at the moment.

FakeProwl: *considers. well, /Prowl/ wouldn't mind more detail, but. glances toward Whirl and Soundwave*

Soundwave: *Oh, he is ATTENTIVE AS HELL. He hasn't budged since he leaned forward. At all.*

Whirl: *he's been sitting very silent, rubbing the side of his helm the whole time* Eh, save it. If it turns out to be something that won't work, then we don't need to know, I guess.

Soundwave: *...But if Whirl doesn't need to hear more.*

Whirl: Do you plan to... to knock him back out for this? I'm assuming you're going to do this after we fix him, right?

FakeProwl: We can put him in a medical stasis once we've ensured his zero point has been repaired—likely before he'll even have a chance to wake up.

Tarantulas: He - yes. He'll be unconscious for the process.

Tarantulas: We'll be well in control of that.

Whirl: Okay, you'll KEEP him under, then. Gotcha.

Tarantulas: @Prowl: ...Remind me I have something to follow up on later.

FakeProwl: @Tarantulas «During or after the meeting?»

Tarantulas: @Prowl: «After, considering how this meeting is going.»

FakeProwl: @Tarantulas «Business?»

Tarantulas: @Prowl: «...Yes.» *ugh why does everything have to be business*

FakeProwl: @Tarantulas «Stay after the meeting. I have something to address too.»

FakeProwl: *to Whirl* Any other questions for now?

Tarantulas: *after a moment* @Prowl: «Very well.»

Whirl: *pauses, lowering his head to think*

Whirl: No. No, I don't think so. Not until I know more.

Whirl: The issue of getting into Debris can wait until we know what we're doing.

Whirl: But it shouldn't be hard. I used to live there.

FakeProwl: And Tarantulas would be very easy to sneak in.

Whirl: *regards Tarantulas* Seems like he'd kind of stick out, if you ask me.

FakeProwl: All I need to get in is a hologram projector; but, my presence is optional.

FakeProwl: *glances at Tarantulas. Care to refute that? Prowl's not going to share if Tarantulas doesn't want to.*

Tarantulas: ...You're not aware I mass shift?

Whirl: ...No?

Tarantulas: *literally forgot he hadn't shown or mentioned*

Whirl: I don't recall you telling me that when we met before.

Whirl: ...but we were both drunk, so. I might've forgot.

Tarantulas: ...Entirely fair. Well, now you're informed.

FakeProwl: *... Prowl missed a story*

Whirl: So, to what /degree,/ anyway? Minibot sized?

Tarantulas: *looks around, thinks better of it* ...Smaller. Think actual Earth spider sized.

Tarantulas: *not giving detail*

FakeProwl: For reference. *holds up his hand with his fingers apart. That's the size of an actual Earth spider.*

FakeProwl: *since Whirl hasn't been there*

Whirl: *blinks*

FakeProwl: *... as far as Prowl knows*

Whirl: *he has, actually, but it wasn't OUR Earth*

Whirl: *wait, we don't share an earth. ...point is, he didn't look for any spiders*

Whirl: Well, damn. That's small as hell.

Whirl: Killer could probably EAT you.

Tarantulas: Oh, he certainly could, hyeh.

Whirl: Okay, so, regardless, we've got a way to deal with the cams--*gestures to Soundwave*

Whirl: I don't have anything else to add, for now.

Whirl: You lot got anything for me? *looks between them*

Tarantulas: Hm. We owe you informational packets, but aside from that, plans proceed as expected? For me, at least.

FakeProwl: And you need to give us what information you have on Debris.

FakeProwl: Even if you're going to actively help us sneak in, having that knowledge ourselves will allow us to improvise in case we're caught or something goes wrong.

Soundwave: [[Including as much of the security measures as you remember. And what you know of the equipment hooked up to Springer, if any.]]

Soundwave: *Soundwave needs to know how far to stretch himself and what to keep at bay.*

Whirl: I meant more as in, questions. And--oh. *this is the first he's heard of that* What exactly do you need to know?

FakeProwl: Its structure, its security systems, what you know about the schedules and movements of its residents. It'll be a bit out of date, of course, but it could still prove valuable.

Soundwave: [[Voice clips, if you have them.]]

Whirl: Right, right. I'll get you that when you get me the packet. *nods to Soundwave, as well*

Soundwave: *Nods.*

FakeProwl: By "packet." Is giving Soundwave the firsthand documentation to show you and being part of these meetings adequate?

FakeProwl: Or do we still need to provide a clear-but-detailed explanation in said packet?

Whirl: Get me the clear and detailed, and if you're not going to give ME the firsthand documents, yeah. Soundwave'll do.

Soundwave: *He's dying to have them anyway. The more he can slowly learn and piece together about Tarn, the better.*

FakeProwl: *glances at Tarantulas* You don't have time to write up an explanation, do you?

Tarantulas: I - yes, I ought to be able to. You'll have to cover your own research and whatnot though.

Whirl: As long as I have the means.

FakeProwl: ... Hm. Most of /my/ research was going to be forwarded to /you./ *lmao prowl doesn't know how to read Rossum's work???*

FakeProwl: ...... I can have Hook translate it.

Tarantulas: Oh, in that case - I can cover it.

Tarantulas: I was under the impression - nevermind.

FakeProwl: No. I'll have Hook do it.

FakeProwl: You need to focus on actually processing the research and performing whatever tests and experiments we need.

Whirl: Anyway, I'm done, unless you need anything else from me. *looks between them again*

Tarantulas: *slightly simmering, but he nods. it's fair*

Soundwave: *Turns to Whirl and nods. He's fine for now.*

FakeProwl: ... I think we're fine.

Whirl: *nods back, cordially, to Soundwave*

Tarantulas: *nod, tarantulas is going back to his energon*

FakeProwl: We'll forward our progress to Soundwave as we make it, and meet back periodically to discuss as we figure out how this procedure will work.

Whirl: Gotcha.

Whirl: *if Whirl receives an invitation from upstairs, he will go hang with Frenzy and/or Rumble; if not, he's gonna stand, streeetch, and head for the door*

Soundwave: *He will receive one from Frenzy. Rumble may join the hangout later, but he'll probably be quiet and just sort of crack the occasional half-afted grin*

Soundwave: *Mmm, extra time to look over project details... delicious.*

Whirl: *then up the stairs he goes; Whirl has had about as much of this as he can stand for one night*

FakeProwl: *... Whirl has upstairs privileges? huh.*

Soundwave: *Only to specific rooms. Lingering in the hallway or trying any rooms he's not permitted to try will set off an alarm in Soundwave's helm*

Whirl: *No funny business, Whirl would just like to see his friend. And cheer the other one up, or try to*

FakeProwl: *waits until he's gone. then turns to Tarantulas.* You were saying?

Tarantulas: *heavy sigh* ...There's another potential problem to the ununtrium fusion I haven't thought to take into account yet.

FakeProwl: ... A problem that they couldn't hear?

FakeProwl: *do you see the skeptical frown on prowl's face?*

FakeProwl: *it looks like all his other frowns*

Tarantulas: Considering Whirl didn't take well to the first mention of death, I thought I might save this one for the next meeting, once I've found a way around it.

FakeProwl: What is it?

Tarantulas: Shock, of course. Spark shock.

FakeProwl: ... Uh huh?

Tarantulas: The systemic stress from the whole experience could cause an overreaction of the spark that would doubtless extinguish it, and there's... given that he'd just have recovered from a zero point in the first place, that raises the possibility of him going into shock.

FakeProwl: ... How high a probability.

Tarantulas: I don't have numbers, but - too high. Far too high.

FakeProwl: ... Ways to mitigate the danger?

Tarantulas: *some thought. give him a moment*

Tarantulas: ...Possibly something to do with extra spark energy. Which we /have/. I just... hadn't thought of this until now, so I'm afraid I don't have many answers for you.

Tarantulas: *doesn't seem happy about this at all*

FakeProwl: Mm. Look into it. ... Along with everything else you're looking into.

Tarantulas: *for a moment tarantulas looks weary (and still singed), but he's nodding anyhow*

FakeProwl: *being a parent is hard, tarantulas*

Tarantulas: *another sip of energon, then he glances over again* ...You had something as well?

FakeProwl: Yes.

FakeProwl: *points at Tarantulas's singed fur, and says, very calmly,* What the hell.

Tarantulas: *oh. /oh/.* ...An accident. Is - there a problem?

FakeProwl: What kind of accident.

Soundwave: *Quietly goes on the (unseen) alert.*

Tarantulas: *glancing around - soundwave's still there, isn't he. can't dodge this one anyway* A lab accident? It's really nothing, Prowl. It - the fur grows back.

FakeProwl: ... Was it really a lab accident.

Tarantulas: *squinting* Yes? What else do you /think/ it was?

FakeProwl: Black Shadow didn't do that?

Soundwave: *Thinking to himself: self-harm, an attempt to cause concern and fawning, a-- oh, now that's something new.*

Soundwave: *He thought they were "friends". Listens carefully.*

FakeProwl: *Prowl trusts no such claims out of somebody who'd turn on his faction for half a billion shanix.*

Tarantulas: *OH. okay.* /No/, nono, of course he didn't. He was a model patient, he even /requested/ sedation for internal procedures.

Soundwave: *That's why it was in quotes.*

FakeProwl: ... Sedation. You can sedate Phase Sixers?

Tarantulas: Temporarily, apparently so. I wasn't sure myself until the other day. Don't - don't get too excited though.

FakeProwl: Mm. Send us the results of that and whatever other facts about Phase Sixers you gleaned from the examination later. What lab accident?

Tarantulas: I was planning on doing so, no worries. *he's going to leave out the 'eating humans' bit*

Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Request: Share delivered Phase Sixer data, sedation included. That, kept to self.

FakeProwl: @Soundwave «I was planning to.» *that was the "us" he was referring to. us-at-this-table.*

FakeProwl: *patiently waits for details about this lab accident.*

Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Acknowledged. Gratitude offered.  *He thought it might've meant the Constructicons again because Mixmaster. Will resume silence for now.*

FakeProwl: *acknowledging ping*

Tarantulas: And it - well, as you can tell, was a slight flare-out. Easily contained, and didn't affect any other projects - only the relevant interaction.

FakeProwl: What was it.

Tarantulas: ...Does it actually /matter/?

FakeProwl: *opens mouth; shuts it.* ... *opens mouth again.* Yes.

Tarantulas: *squints* ...It was involved in a personal project. There were trace amounts of an unwanted precipitate in my flask at a key step. .../Why/?

FakeProwl: Because. I need to know what you did so I can tell you not to do it again.

FakeProwl: Do you need something to wash your flasks better?

Tarantulas: *weak laugh* No, I'm fine on that front. It - was a misplacement error.

FakeProwl: "Misplacement error"?

Tarantulas: If all you're going to do is interrogate me further, I'm - I probably ought to go.

FakeProwl: ... Is that your way of saying you can't answer any further questions honestly?

Tarantulas: *stares a moment* ...You could put it that way. But this - this is why I don't /like/ that rule. All that not answering your questions is going to get me is more attention.

Tarantulas: *physically uncomfortable, twitchy. very conscious of soundwave*

FakeProwl: I like the rule because now I know not to keep asking.

Tarantulas: *relaxes a bit at that, though*

Tarantulas: ...Thank you, I suppose. Is there anything else?

FakeProwl: Do you need anything for the damage. To your... *vague gesture at the burned fur* ... ssssittae? *is that the word.*

Tarantulas: Setae, yes - but honestly, just call it fur, or whatever you like. And like I said, it'll grow back on its own.

FakeProwl: *setae. he was close.*

FakeProwl: ... Pain?

Tarantulas: Blocked. Mostly momentary.

FakeProwl: ... Fine.

Tarantulas: *another sigh. that's too many sighs for this evening. more energon for a sec*

Tarantulas: Spark shock, ununtrium binding, limb isolation equipment...

Tarantulas: And the zero-point indentification in the first place.

FakeProwl: And your half of the data packet to Whirl, unless you'd like me to have Hook just handle your half too.

Tarantulas: Nono, I'll be able to interpret my thoughts best. It'll be a break.

FakeProwl: Fine.

FakeProwl: I'll dig up what research I can from the Decepticons and forward it to you.

FakeProwl: And alert Mixmaster that he'll be helping you narrow down compounds.

Tarantulas: Appreciated. And - yes. Once I get there.

Tarantulas: If there's anything else, just - comm me. I - ought to go.

FakeProwl: *nods*

Soundwave: [[...Try to be more careful.]]

FakeProwl: Yes. Please. Do. No more singeing yourself.

FakeProwl: Label your used flasks better.

FakeProwl: And wash them.

FakeProwl: And—whatever else you might have done wrong but didn't tell me about.

Tarantulas: That's not - *sigh* Yes, I'll attempt such. I really don't see why it's such a concern - it comes with the job, and I'm literally built for it, you know.

Tarantulas: *Tarantulas is getting up to go if there's nothing else*

FakeProwl: Some tiny, avoidable mistakes are fatal.

Tarantulas: I'm aware - and prepared, believe it or not.

Tarantulas: I'll be in touch. *a nod toward soundwave, a glance at prowl*

Soundwave: *Nothing else here. Soundwave will give Tarantulas a polite nod. He'll also watch to make sure Tarantulas actually goes and doesn't creep up in a corner to do his own spying, once he 'leaves'*

FakeProwl: *if he was prepared, he wouldn't have singed himself.*

Tarantulas: *shhh*

Tarantulas: *prepared for the aftermath*

Tarantulas: *and the fatal mistakes*

Tarantulas: *this one was just singeing*

Tarantulas: *but yep, he's outie, no suspicious activity for him this time around*

FakeProwl: *IT WOULD BE BETTER IF HE DIDN'T MAKE A FATAL MISTAKE IN THE FIRST PLACE prowl's not going to say anything, nope, he's going to let tarantulas leave.*

Soundwave: *Carefully sneaks the glass off the table with a feeler*

Soundwave: *For science purposes. Yes.*

FakeProwl: ... So. How did that go.

FakeProwl: I think it went well.

Soundwave: *Soundwave stares at Prowl for a long, long moment. Then pops a laughing face on his screen.*

Soundwave: (txt): All parties survived. This, best possible outcome.

Soundwave: *And yes, he DID have his doubts about that outcome.*

FakeProwl: *tired, grim smile* I kept waiting for Whirl to casually mention that he’d tried to kill Springer.

FakeProwl: Propose it as a last-last resort. That sort of thing. With Tarantulas sitting there.

Soundwave: (txt): Primus forbid. Tarantulas slips sufficient for all. Murder attempt slip… native Prowl would not like results.

FakeProwl: He called him /Ostaros/… I need to break him of that habit.

Soundwave: (txt): Affirmative. Dangerous. If done here, done elsewhere.

FakeProwl: *sigh* … Well. Any concluding thoughts?

Soundwave: (txt): Fewer threats in future. Whirl better not antagonized. Prowl knows Soundwave’s priorities. Springer not in danger Tarantulas does not cause.

FakeProwl: … It was only one threat.

FakeProwl: And it’s a—thing Wreckers understand. They don’t understand that a subject matters to you until you threaten to kill them over it.

Soundwave: @Prowl: (txt): Then fewer: zero. If Prowl correct, Whirl understands. More fights unneeded. … Other note: Soundwave knows Prowl-Springer design connection. Will not abuse. Prowl’s helm still own if “late resort” necessary.

Soundwave: *He doesn’t know if Prowl was worried about that, but. He’s putting that out there.*

FakeProwl: *hand half-lifts to reach for his neck; consciously puts it back down.* … We’ll ensure the last resort isn’t necessary.

FakeProwl: And if it is… We’ll address that then.

Soundwave: *Slow nod.* (txt): Hope maintenance attempted. … Nothing else at present. Prowl knows stated needs. Inform if own change, require assistance.

FakeProwl: *nods* I’ll keep you updated on our progress.

Soundwave: *And another one.*

Soundwave: (txt): …Negative. One thing. Rule following display… good. Promising.

Soundwave: *Taps fingers twice. Now nothing else.*

FakeProwl: Was it good? He tried to dodge it until I directly questioned him.

Soundwave: (txt): Prowl’s. Tarantulas’… minor improvement. Prowl not blamed, made guilty, forced into hyper-attentiveness.

Soundwave: *Unlike certain alarm clock incidents.*

FakeProwl: He complained about the rule.

Soundwave: (txt): This, reason label: 'minor improvement’ applied.

FakeProwl: Mm. Fair.

Soundwave: *Nod.* (txt): Work shift soon?

FakeProwl: In about an hour. But I should go update the Constructicons.

Soundwave: (txt): Understood. Remain safe.

FakeProwl: *a nod of acknowledgment; and then he disappears.*

Soundwave: *And Soundwave goes to put the glass he hid away into a container for later examination. He wants to know what the dust was.*


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas has a spark-to-spark with an (unfortunately) unexpectedly helpful mech.

Tarantulas

> No rest for the wicked, it seemed. One project objective blurred into the next, a series of increasingly challenging tasks Tarantulas had been stumbling through ever since being assigned them at the prior meeting. Don’t get him wrong, he was putting his all into them and coming up with significant results, but this… it was strange pursuing something for the end instead of the means.
> 
> Even though he’d  _still_  rather have kept going on his own, Tarantulas inevitably found himself compiling a solid chunk of chemical data to send to Mixmaster as requested. In the end he had to admit it was for the best - he really did need the assistance, and… well. Hopefully handing the file off could help with another problem as well.
> 
> «Mixmaster? I have the data for you, and a - a question, if you’d be so kind.»

Mixmaster

> Huh. Mixmaster’d half expected that Tarantulas wouldn’t actually give him anything to do. He seemed like the type to hog the work and the glory to himself.
> 
> Well, he didn’t trust Tarantulas just yet. Maybe he was only sending over the possibilities he’d already eliminated to keep Mixmaster busy.
> 
> «Yeah. Ready. Send it over. Whatcher question?»

Tarantulas

> Ping! A hefty file dropped into Mixmaster’s inbox. This was genuine work for him to do - although Tarantulas would be double-checking it himself during the testing that’d follow. Strangely enough, this might be a chance for one of the Constructicons to gain a little more respect from Tarantulas.
> 
> As far as the question went, though… A short sigh came across the commlink. Tarantulas knew this would get back to Prowl sooner or later, but he  _had_  to say something, had to ask.
> 
> «Is… is Prowl mad at me? …How  _is_  he?»

Mixmaster

> Mixmaster opened the file and started glancing through the molecular models. Huh. Well, it  _looked_  legit…
> 
> _That_  was what Tarantulas wanted to know? Mixmaster’s engine growled in annoyance. « _He_  ain’t mad. But  _we_  are. He’s been miserable for days cuz of you. He won’t admit it, but he is. He shoulda called you out on the spot for breakin’ his respect rule.»
> 
> “Miserable” might have been a slight exaggeration. “Vaguely sad-ish” was more accurate. But Mixmaster wasn’t here to accurately reflect Prowl’s emotional state, he was here to guilt the hell out of the bug.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was aware Mixmaster was probably twisting the truth a little, but still - Prowl,  _upset_? That was - that didn’t make any sense. Tarantulas spluttered for a moment, trying to sort things out.
> 
> «W-what do you - I didn’t break any rules! What are you even  _talking_  about?»

Mixmaster

> «Whaddaya mean, what’m I talkin’ about? You spend  _months_  hittin’ on him and getting him all excited and then tell him ya don’t even wanna be friends. You just shoot him down. Just like that. After everything he put up with for you.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was floored.  _What_. Was this what was happening? It couldn’t possibly be. Mixmaster was messing with him, he had to be.
> 
> «I didn’t - that’s not what I meant at  _all_! I just meant I didn’t want to isolatedly be friends, but even  _then_  I take it back now, in the face of this - this sterile business relationship, or whatever it is that’s going on right now, but I -
> 
> «What am I even  _saying_. I’m - my apologies. It’s not as if convincing  _you_  of this is going to get me anywhere.»

Mixmaster

> «You  _wasn’t_  isolatedly friends, he said you was allies too, didn’t he? And anyways ya didn’t tell him you didn’t wanna “just be friends,” you told him you  _ain’t capable_  of being friends with each other.
> 
> «He ain’t good enough to be your friend, but he’s good enough to give you the stuff you need for your projects and then shove him aside, huh?»

Tarantulas

> «I never said we  _couldn’t_  be, I -» Hadn’t he said they  _could_ be friends? But Prowl didn’t take him up on it, right? What  _had_ happened, even? It was all such a mess, a god-awful mess.
> 
> Some more spluttering. «He - we - I’d rather we have nothing to do with each other in business than not be in amicable contact with each other! It’s just that it’s inextricably - there’s no way to - I can’t believe you and he would think I’d just  _shove him aside_! I couldn’t possibly. He’s the one who’s doing that to  _me_.»

Mixmaster

> «Yeah, ya did. Ya said—what’d you say?  _Hey, Prowl!_ » The line goes dead a few seconds.
> 
> Then he’s back. «Ya said you don’t like it. You said it doesn’t fit. S'what you said.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ spark felt like it fizzled out for a moment.  _Why_  did Mixmaster have to actually drag Prowl into this,  _now_ …?
> 
> «That’s because - I said it wasn’t  _enough_! And you and he know exactly what that means, and it  _doesn’t_  mean I don’t think we could be friends.»

Mixmaster

> Never fear; Mixmaster just asked Prowl for a quote, and then left. Prowl’s vaguely wondering why Mixmaster wanted to know.
> 
> «Yeah? Does he know? Cuz he thinks it means  _you don’t wanna be friends._  And all I know’s what he knows.»

Tarantulas

> An exasperated noise. «How many times do I have to say it for you all to listen to me? I  ** _do_  ** _want_ to be friends! Anything less would be - and  _is_  - i-it’s…» Sickeningly insufficient? Rein it in, Tarantulas, this isn’t Prowl you’re talking to here, it’s Mixmaster. Save the confessions for when - if - you actually talk to Prowl.
> 
> «Primus, if I said something to the contrary before or I’m being otherwise misinterpreted, please just  _throw that out the slagging window_. My words  _right now_ ought to matter more than ones I’m denouncing. Am I not allowed to change my mind or - or - I don’t know, you  _know_  what I mean.»

Mixmaster

> «You told him you didn’t wanna! And you only changed your mind and went “okay fine we can be friends” after boss got upset about it. Ya don’t wanna be friends, ya just didn’t wanna jeopardize things by gettin’ on his bad side. How’m I supposed to believe you wanna be friends with him when you were only willing to do that after he was upset. You’re fraggin’ around with us.»

Tarantulas

> «I - I didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of  _furthering_  the relationship! Clearly it’s - we had different ideas of - of how we’re supposed to go about this. This situation right now is the last thing I could have ever wanted, and I am  _not_  lying or trying to manipulate anyone by saying such.
> 
> « _What do I have to do to prove that to you_?» 

Mixmaster

> «Yeah? Ya didn’t think saying you didn’t want to be friends with him wouldn’t jeopardize things?
> 
> «You can start by actually saying what you’re after. You talk to us, you act like you’re ready to lasso Luna One as your act of profferance. You talk to him, you say you can’t even be friends—you just wanna be  _partners._  So what is it? What’re you after?»

Tarantulas

> «I wasn’t - I wasn’t  _thinking_.» Obviously.
> 
> Ah, scrap. An unavoidable, pointed question that Tarantulas  _had_  to answer, and he had to make sure he did it correctly and honestly so. Suddenly he felt like clamming up and cutting the commline, but he couldn’t. Not if he cared about any of this - which he did. A  _lot_.
> 
> «I - I want - Prowl. To be in a relationship with me, in literally as many ways as he’s willing to allow. … _Wait_ \- haven’t we already  _been_  over this before? The whole ‘state your intentions’ talk. It really hasn’t changed since then - if anything, it’s been  _exacerbated_ , so to speak.»

Mixmaster

> «Yeah, we  _have_  been over it, and then ya contradicted it and we don’t know what to think anymore.» That was a lie. They knew what to think. They were thinking Tarantulas had been lying about wanting to date Prowl because he thought that would make them approve of him.
> 
> (Since they didn’t approve, it’s a mystery why they think he thought it would.)
> 
> «So how come ya said that, huh?  _If_  you wanna be in a relationship and all with him, why’d you shoot him down when he said you was friends?»

Tarantulas

> «I - I don’t feel like I shot him down so much as I - incorrectly attempted to relabel what we were-slash-wanted-to-be, because I thought that being ‘friends’ meant we were, err, excluded from various things I might want from a relationship. And - I - my initial reaction was that ‘friends’ just sounded too  _banal_ , but I suppose it’s really more about what you  _make_  of it, and I - well. I have plenty I want to make of it, suffice to say.»

Mixmaster

> «… What.
> 
> «Okay. Lemme get this straight. Prowl told you that he wants to be friends, right? And you—dumb fragger that you are—you told him you don’t wanna. Because for some stupid reason, you think bein’ friends and bein’ in a relationship are  _different things_. Am I gettin’ that right?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas cringed. «… _Sssssssort_  of. Maybe. But it’s honestly  _not_ that simple because I thought - when it comes to - it’s like…
> 
> «…N-nevermind. I’m just digging the hole deeper, aren’t I.»

Mixmaster

> «Mech. Bug. Listen.
> 
> «Yer a moron.
> 
> «How d’you think you’re gonna be anything else with him when you ain’t even friends? And you wanna be partners?  _Partners?_  That’s even  _worse_. That’s lower than friends.»

Tarantulas

> There might be a tad more indignation in Tarantulas’ voice than there needed to be, just because of that bug comment.  _Why_  did they still call him that. Why.
> 
> «Partners is  _not_  lower than friends! Partners is - is - an amalgam of things, and in my mind it’s surely  _closer_  than friends, which, judging by the reaction Prowl had, wasn’t what he -»  _Rrgh_. «…What does it matter  _anyway_. I don’t  _want_  to be partners if it’s going to be misinterpreted as something lesser. I’m - I want to be friends. I believe I quite thoroughly understand now.» A weak huff.

Mixmaster

> «Partners is nothin’. Partners is when your boss tells you you gotta work with a mech you hate, or when you go into business with somebody cuz you need his money.»

Tarantulas

> «...Is that just what  _you_  think, or is that what Prowl thinks too? And is that what you all  _thought_  I meant when I said that?»

Mixmaster

> «That’s what me and the crew think. You don’t wanna know what Prowl thinks, because it’s a whole fraggin’ lot worse. We think he’s projectin’.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ spark sank even lower than it already had been.
> 
> «I - I  _do_ want to know what he thinks. Because whatever it is, I’m making it my top priority to see it  _utterly dismantled_.»

Mixmaster

> «… ‘S complicated. Like… it’s kinda a mess in his head. His thoughts are all scrambled. But they hurt.
> 
> «I think it’s this ex he had—awful fragger who hated all the things that make boss so swell. Always shoutin’ at him over nothing. Even when they was datin’ and workin’ together and all, real close-like, he wouldn’t say they were dating. Wouldn’t even admit they was friends. Anybody asked what they were, he’d say they were “ _just partners_.”»
> 
> They’d seen this ex before, in Prowl’s head, when he was low: vague fluttering memories of love and hurt, of being cut down and confused over and over, of brief sparkling moments of happiness he could never quite hold onto, of feeling small, of constantly being scared of losing his one stable anchor in the world and just as scared of being chained to that anchor and dragged underwater. Only a few of those memories had stirred at Tarantulas’s words—“ _I think the term ‘partner’ allows for a decent amount of much-needed wiggle room._ ”—but they were damning memories—“ _So you and Prowl, are you—?_ ” “ _Partners. Just… just partners._ ” “ _Wow. You’re unlucky._ ” “ _Heh. I know._ ” Enough for them to know it was this same person.
> 
> Wiggle room. Enough wiggle room for a vast landscape of both adoration and revulsion, for brief sunny moments of affection mixed with near-constant drizzles and cold, cold downpours of misery, thunderclaps of outraged offense and long rumbles of resentment, echoing again unexpectedly long after they should have fallen silent. Lover and friend and coworker and enemy. A landscape exhausting to navigate, so wide and vast and unmapped that Prowl never knew where he stood. Wiggle room. Why would Tarantulas ever want that much wiggle room, if it wasn’t because he planned to visit the badlands too?
> 
> «That’s whatcha told him. You wanna be that guy who treats him like he’s slag ‘n’ won’t even admit you’re dating him. That’s how  _he_  sees it, anyway.» Of course, the Constructicons thought Prowl was reading too much into one little word—but partners sure didn’t mean anything special to them, either. It meant the coworker you were stuck with. Nothing more. «But you gotta admit—you got a good head start on the whole “treating him like slag” part.»
> 
> The Constructicons couldn’t tell who it was that had given Prowl that fragged-up narrative, because the memories were so fragmented, the links between them and the rest of Prowl’s mind damaged. But then again, because they were so fragmented, the Constructicons knew  _exactly_  who it was.

Tarantulas

> For a brief moment Tarantulas wondered if Mixmaster was referring to Prowl’s Mesothulas - but it didn’t seem so. It  _couldn’t_  be so, not with the description he gave, not if Mesothulas had been anything like Tarantulas was.
> 
> There was only stunned silence for a while, but Tarantulas’ voice crept in little by little. «…No, no no no,  _no,_  that’s… that’s  **not**  what I want. Not in the least - and yes, I-I’m aware I haven’t treated him as well as he deserves, but I’m  _trying_  to be better about it, because he truly does matter to me and I can’t bear the thought of - I would be - I thought it was obvious how I felt! How I feel. Which is  _nothing_  like that.»

Mixmaster

> «It was obvious up until you said you don’t wanna be friends and you wanna be this thing that’s lower than friends instead. Mech, whaddaya think lovers are if they ain’t friends?»

Tarantulas

> «That - that’s why you should listen to me  _now_ , because obviously I mangled that entirely and didn’t know what I was talking about at the time! I  _understand_. I do. I - I don’t want Prowl to think that his version of ‘partners’ is what I want to be, that’s  _never_ what I intended.»
> 
> Lovers being friends, though? That still felt a little… uncomfortable to think about, considering Tarantulas had been uncertain about the idea of friendship in the first place for various reasons. By now it was obvious of course, which meant he’d have to get comfortable with the idea of being friends right quick - but he was more than willing to do whatever it took.

Mixmaster

> «Yeah. Obviously.» A mean guffaw. «Ya mangled it  _good,_  bot.»

Tarantulas

> Some half-sparked grumbling from Tarantulas’ end. He deserved the mocking, so he shouldn’t really complain.
> 
> «…So what the everloving frag am I supposed to do now? Do you even believe me in the slightest? Because  _Prowl_  sure as pits won’t if you don’t.»

Mixmaster

> «Sure I believe you. You’re dumb enough to frag up like that. Ya wanna know what I suggest?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave an audible sigh of relief - but it was short lived.
> 
> «You - you  _better_  not hand your comm unit over to him.»

Mixmaster

> «Naw. The opposite.
> 
> «I suggest ya  _frag off ‘n’ leave boss alone._ »

Tarantulas

> «…I - I can’t  _do_ that! First of all it’s not an option to begin with considering we’re working on reviving Ostaros together, but even if that weren’t there -  _no_. No. I can’t do that. He wouldn’t  _want_  that.»

Mixmaster

> «So fix  _Spriiingerrr_  and then frag off. Whadda you know about what the boss wants? You don’t care unless you get what  _you_  want. You ain’t done nothing but make boss miserable since you showed up.»

Tarantulas

> «That’s  _false_. It’s - it’s not been  _all_  bad.» Right? «And while I may be responsible for a large majority of - of what’s happened, it’s  _passed_. Prowl and I agreed on a new set of rules and I’ve been abiding by them ever since. This isn’t  _unsalvageable_. And he - he…»
> 
> Tarantulas shook his head, unseen, and muttered: «…I shouldn’t’ve asked you what you thought.»

Mixmaster

> «It’s been a hell of a lot more bad than good. Boss ain’t kept you around because he likes what you’re doin'—he’s kept you because he hopes you’ll get better.
> 
> «Us? We don’t think you deserve that chance.»

Tarantulas

> «Of  _course_  you don’t think I do. Why  _would_ you. You’re in the same combiner, you’re -»
> 
> _You’re looking out for his best interests and don’t like seeing him unhappy._
> 
> The implications in the statement… they stung. And there was nothing Tarantulas could do about it -  _he_  was the one who’d thought it in the first place.
> 
> «…Nevermind. C-contact me when you’ve made progress on deciphering the compound.» 

Mixmaster

> «Yeah. Exactly. We’re in the same combiner. We’re in his head, every day. And we ain’t havin’ conversations like this with the other ‘bots courting boss.»
> 
> Mixmaster snorted. «Yeah. I’ll let you know.»

Tarantulas

> «Wait -  _other_  - ? That is,  _which_ others?» 

Mixmaster

> «All of ‘em.»

Tarantulas

> «No, I meant - I knew  _Quark_ , but - who are the  _others_?»

Mixmaster

> «You wanna get with Prowl and ya don’t even know who’s courtin’ him? Soundwave—the skinny one. And he keeps gettin’ anonymous love notes and strangers buyin’ him drinks and whatnot.»

Tarantulas

> All Mixmaster would hear was the first consonant of Soundwave’s name rapidly stuttered into silence.
> 
> _No_. No. Nonono. All of this was wrong and awful and it  _couldn’t_  be true. Not Soundwave - although it made sense, which is why it  _couldn’t_  - because then - and what if he - that’d mean -
> 
> It might be a while before Tarantulas actually said anything coherent in reply.

Mixmaster

> «… Hello?» Where’d the bug go? Mixmaster waited a moment. «What? Didn’t know boss was that popular?»

Tarantulas

> Mixmaster’s words knocked Tarantulas back into focus a bit, but everything still seemed - buzzy. Unreal.
> 
> «No, it’s - not that. How… how long have they been dating?»

Mixmaster

> «Uhhhh… I'unno. A while? What’s it matter?»

Tarantulas

> «Simple curiosity, that’s… that’s all.» So it could have been months then, or longer even - who knew? «So that’s it, then? More seriously speaking - not the anonymous scrap.»

Mixmaster

> «Eh. Currently, yeah. Unless some of his past relationships start comin’ back from the dead. Multiverse slag.»

Tarantulas

> The poke in Mesothulas/Tarantulas’ direction was briefly noted and glossed over in favor of the chaotic static that was his current thoughts on Soundwave.
> 
> «…I see, I - ought to go now.»

Mixmaster

> «Yeah. Fine. I’ll get to work.»

Tarantulas

> A ping. That was all Tarantulas could muster right now in the way of farewell niceties.

 

* * *

 

Mixmaster

> Ping, it's Mixmaster. He's narrowed it down to seven viable molecular structures. Tarantulas will have to compare them to whatever notes he's got on the real thing to figure out which it is.

Tarantulas

> The ping was like a gentle slap - if a slap could be gentle, really. Needless to say, it startled him out of his brooding and into a state of vague disbelief at how quickly Mixmaster had gotten back to him. Maybe if he were in a different place at the moment he would’ve been duly impressed instead of just taken-aback.
> 
> A ping of confirmation; there was no need for words.

Mixmaster

> Hmph? That was it? No thanks? No admiration of the fact that Mixmaster did this while working a full-time job with only a lab shoved into half a bathroom?
> 
> Feh, whatever.  _Prowl_  would be impressed.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wildly unexpected occurs; Tarantulas manages to avoid making it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In between this thread and the last one, Tarantulas had a chat with Soundwave and somewhat smoothed things over in that respect. This thread occurs not long after that.

Prowl

> Prowl was looking over his blueprint and speaking with one of the construction workers when somebody shouted “ _Duck!_ ”
> 
> He’s never had very good reflexes. He was still turning to see what he was supposed to be ducking when it crashed into his face.
> 
> A burst of pain, and then Prowl blacked out.
> 
> For about… three seconds. When he turned back on, his pain receptors were off, but his vision was completely obscured by damage reports. He had ringing in his audials, everything sounded muffled, one of his optics was offline, he could barely see anything through his other optic (maybe because the damage reports were in the way), and he could faintly hear the sound of one of his processor fans knocking against his brain module.
> 
> He turned that fan off and minimized all the damage reports. He still couldn’t see much. Half the sky was completely black and what remained was… bizarrely kaleidoscopic.
> 
> No damage from the shoulders down, though. He sat upright. It felt like he was floating underwater.
> 
> He heard a faint shriek that he thought came from Long Haul. It was hard to tell. Everything was oddly fragmented and repeating, like a broken mirror.
> 
> “What?” He could barely hear his own voice. Still with that bizarre floating feeling, he reached up and touched his own face, checking for damage.
> 
> There was a bar sticking out of his right eye.
> 
> “Ah,” he said. “Yes. That explains it.” Mystery solved.
> 
> He looked around at the fragments of construction workers around him. “I think I should go to the hospital.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Prowl was going to a hospital
> 
> He was glad to know Iacon had a hospital. He’d been concerned they only had a few small clinics. But no. A real hospital. A hospital was good.
> 
> He wasn’t sure who he was riding inside, but his sirens are loud enough to cut through the ringing in Prowl’s audials. If everything wasn’t weirdly muffled, he’d have a splitting headache by now—pipe in his head notwithstanding. Even so, he was definitely moving toward a siren-induced headache.
> 
> “Could you turn off the siren?” he asked. “It’s hurting my head.” He didn’t hear the reply, but the siren didn’t turn off.
> 
> He sighed.
> 
> \---
> 
> … Ah. Prowl was injured. It could be a temporarily debilitating injury. He should notify his place of employment.
> 
> Clearly the best way to do that was by making an open broadcast on the datanet. His place of employment would find it.
> 
> «I will probably not go to work tomorrow, due to the fact that I have a pipe embedded in my head.»
> 
> Yes. Very informative. Good work.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas got a hold of the broadcast almost instantaneously - of course he had filters and notifications going on Prowl’s activity. 
> 
> « ** _Probably_**!? B-but - this  _better_  not be a Constructicon prank, I  _swear_  -» 

Prowl

> «99.92% probability that I will not be repaired in time for tomorrow night’s work shift.
> 
> «No, it’s not a prank. Somebody was using a buzzsaw improperly. It launched a pipe. I’m going to scold him.»

Tarantulas

> « **Prowl**.  _Prowl_. Where are you? I’m - I’m coming straightaway.»

Prowl

> «I’m in a hospital waiting room, I think. You shouldn’t come, you’ll probably get in a fight with Hook. Anyway, I can’t see or hear very well right now, so I can talk to you better over comms.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re - what  _\- why are you still in a waiting room_. And I don’t  _care_  if Hook’s there, I - I -»
> 
> A noise of frustration. He probably shouldn’t go, fighting would only obstruct Prowl receiving medical treatment, but Primus damn it all - Prowl deserved better than standard medical care, and Tarantulas should be the one there to administer it. It took everything in his power not to start tracking down Prowl’s coordinates through his frequency, but he swallowed the urge and curled his claws tightly on the tabletop instead.
> 
> «You have - do you have any processor damage? Motor impairment? Send me your vitals?»

Prowl

> «Because they haven’t taken me out of the waiting room yet.» Obviously.
> 
> «I don’t know if I have processor damage. One of my processor fans was knocked out of place. I don’t think any of my motor functions have been impaired.» He sends his vitals—which alone should indicate that things aren’t all normal in Prowl’s head. According to his internal diagnostics, one optic is  _gone_ , the other is seriously damaged, something unknown is wrong with his audial receptors, one fan in his head is damaged, and there’s a hole in his face that shouldn’t be there. No pain, that’s been turned off. Probably in some state of shock. «If I have processor damage and they can’t fix it I’m going to ask them to euthanize me.»

Tarantulas

> They really  _should_  get Prowl out of the waiting room. Tarantulas was going to have a fit if that status didn’t change within the next minute or two - especially once he saw Prowl’s vital stats. This was  _not_  OK. Not anywhere remotely near it.
> 
> Then, a panicked yelp of Prowl’s name. «Don’t you dare even  _joke_  about that! You won’t - it’s not - even if you  _did_  and  _they_  couldn’t, **I**  could repair you, I’d fix you up just the same! Do  _not_  say that.» A shaky pause, then: « _Please_  give me your coordinates, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «I’m not joking. If my processor is permanently damaged then I have no further worth. … You  _might_  be able to fix me, though. You could try if you promised not to change anything.»
> 
> They moved him, he’s on a hoverchair now. Presumably so they can transport him without his having to walk. He props his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. «I don’t know my coordinates.»

Tarantulas

> «You  _have_  worth, you’re -» Damnit Prowl, Tarantulas thinks you’re half right, and besides it’s hard to argue against a statement like that. «I  **could**. I know I could. I have all your schematics and my native Prowl’s coding, I - but, of  _course_. I promise I wouldn’t change a thing - I’d never, ever want to, not -» 
> 
> A whimper. «Could you - ask someone somehow? Reverse extrapolate? If you give me two other frequencies I could - I could triangulate, maybe -» 

Prowl

> «Not without my brain. My worth is in my ability to track things. If I lose that then I’m no longer a strategist or a calculator. I’m only a fuel-inefficient car with mediocre combat capabilities and substandard socialization skills.»
> 
> He has to mull that over. «… If I lose my memories but retain my ability to calculate trajectories then I’m still useful. That’s adequate.»
> 
> Reverse extrapolate? Oh. Hmm. He rode in someone here. He could tell how fast they were going based on the acceleration and deceleration he experienced during the ride, and how far they travel based on the amount of time at that speed, and he felt when they turned. If he could remember all that…
> 
> Fifteen, twenty seconds; and then coordinates ping. «That should be the waiting room. If it is, tell me so that I’ll know I can still track things accurately.»

Tarantulas

> Something was wrong. Something was  _seriously_  wrong. Aside from the physical injury, that is. Prowl would never be saying these things normally, would he?
> 
> «Don’t worry about that right now - I’d repair you in a  _sparkbeat_ if there were a problem.» Rapidly Tarantulas was already pulling up data to make sure it was there, hoping that the silence on the other end meant something good -
> 
> And then the coordinates came through.  _Prowl was letting him come_. Tarantulas would have to make sure to have the portal open up somewhere inconspicuous, under a chair perhaps -  _quick_ , estimate the height, have the portal resize and relocate to the nearest wall…
> 
> Second later there was a tiny spider was crawling from one underside of a chair to the next trying to figure out where the ER doors were. «Yes, you - you were right, it’s the waiting room. Do you remember which direction you went once you came in the front door?» 

Prowl

> «You can’t repair me in a spark beat. Unless you can move at nearly the speed of light.» A pause. «… Can you move at nearly the speed of light, Tarantulas? That’s the kind of ridiculous impossible thing I would expect of you.»
> 
> A moment as Prowl calculates his route through the hospital. «… Through a door in the northwest corner of the room. You shouldn’t go through. Most hospitals don’t authorize visitors other than brothers, conjuges, and amicae outside of regular visiting hours, and I’m still being examined.»

Tarantulas

> «No, although I truly wish I could,» Tarantulas muttered, still frantically scrambling around. Yep, that was definitely out of character for Prowl - the likelihood of processor damage inched up with every new odd phrase he uttered. Primus, but Tarantulas didn’t want to have to mess with Prowl’s brain module unless he absolutely had to…
> 
> «No one’s going to mind an infinitesimal spider on the wall. Tell me - what’s happening? And don’t you  **dare** go into stasis on me - or at least  _tell_  me before they put you under, if they do.» 
> 
> Northwest? Alright, there it was. All Tarantulas had to do now was wait for someone to open the door, and he’d sneak through on the ceiling… 

Prowl

> «You’d be  _too_  scary if you could move near the speed of light. You’re  _already_  scary—you can shrink too far too see, mask your EM field, deflect attention, and teleport anywhere. That’s too much for someone who sneaks into my rooms and scans me without my permission.»
> 
> Which segued neatly into Prowl’s next point, actually. «No—I don’t want an infinitesimal spider on my wall. I want the doctors to look at me without you there. You can come in when I have a room and visitors are allowed.»
> 
> That was a good question—what  _was_  happening? «I’m being examined. Someone shined a light in my optic and I didn’t like it.»

Tarantulas

> _Scary_. Prowl thought he was - why now, why did this have to come up in the middle of all of this mess.  _No_. Tarantulas was not going to think about how matter-of-fact Prowl sounded and how it was - no.
> 
> «You -  _why_? Why do I have to wait?» There was definitely a whine in Tarantulas’ voice there. «If - if anything goes wrong, I can - I want to be there to  _help_ , I - I… suppose a sudden unexpected entrance would do more harm than good at that point but  _still_ …
> 
> «At least keep talking to me. You have to  _promise_. Promise you’ll alert me before you hang up.»

Prowl

> «Because I want you to wait, because I don’t want you there while the doctors are still trying to fix me. You can visit when I can have visitors.
> 
> «I promise I’ll tell you when I hang up.»

Tarantulas

> «I don’t -»  _I don’t get it. Why_. But Tarantulas was fairly sure he wouldn’t get a proper answer on that one, not with Prowl in the state he was in right now. Either he had a reason he didn’t want to divulge, or it was  _irrational_ , a possibility Tarantulas didn’t want to consider.
> 
> «Th-thank you. What’s happening now? How are you feeling, physically, mentally? Vitals again? Who  _is_  with you?» 

Prowl

> «They’re moving me somewhere else. Hook said I’m going to get a scan. Physically I feel like I have a pipe in my face and the weight is pushing down on my cheek; nothing else feels abnormal. Mentally I feel afraid.»
> 
> Vitals again. They haven’t changed.
> 
> «Hook’s with me. So is another doctor; I can’t see who he is.»

Tarantulas

> Nervously Tarantulas began to set up shop in the corner next to the door, spinning a little hammock-web to keep himself occupied while he fretted. Well, at least Prowl’s systems were stable, that was reassuring.
> 
> «You’re - oh  _Prowl_. Is there any way I can help?» The words  _soothe_ and _assuage_  crossed his mind. «Anything I can - I don’t know, we could talk through the fear, or I could distract you somehow, or…»
> 
> The mention of Hook made him screw up the web pattern for a moment, but he snipped out the error and kept going. «Tell Hook, tell him - wait, I can just comm him myself, n-nevermind.»
> 
> On the side, to Hook: «I  _hate_ you right now, but  _thank you_. And if you’re not doing anything vital, you had  _better_ be comforting Prowl somehow. Physical contact - it’s really all he’s got.»

Prowl

> «You can help if my brain is damaged and nobody else thinks they can fix it. Until then, no.»
> 
> Distraction. Distraction was a good idea. Hold on a second while he rummages around. «I have your magnets.» That was good. Something else to focus on.

Hook

> Hook replied immediately: « _Frag off_. I’m the best doctor in the Decepticons, lemme do my job.  _Wish_  I could comfort him, but boss don’t like touchin’. He brushed me off earlier. ‘M takin’ him for x-rays right now.»

Tarantulas

> That was the worst part of this - Prowl was right, there really was no way for Tarantulas to help. He simply had to wait, and Primus, Tarantulas was absolute  _shit_  at waiting.
> 
> «My - my magnets? Good, that’s good, focus on those. Can you tell any difference among them without the colors? Weight or shape differences, magnetic field balance? Have they changed at all since I gave them to you?»
> 
> To Hook: «I -  _rrgh_. Fine.  _Please_  could you keep me updated? I’d be infinitely grateful, I’m - I’m in the waiting room and Prowl  _insists_ I not come back there.»

Prowl

> «Yes. The magnetic fields are all a little bit different.» Rather than try to explain, Prowl sent diagrams of them all: each field slightly stronger or weaker than the others, each one’s magnetic poles tilted slightly different relative to the cubes’ faces. «They have not measurably changed since I obtained them.»

Hook

> Hook snorted. «I’m busy makin’ sure the doctors here don’t mess up anything. I don’t even got time to update the Constructicons, I don’t got time for you. Wait your turn.»

Tarantulas

> «How about - rearrange them in increasingly complex patterns based on field, then? Or - here. Tell me how many linear configurations there can be based on cube color, then based on cube color, field,  _and_  orientation.» That’d keep Prowl busy for a bit.
> 
> To Hook: «Again,  _thank_   _you_ , sincerely, but I  _need_  - I need to be kept in the loop. In case something  _does_ happen and I have to come back there. Prowl gave me permission under - certain circumstances.» Awful ones that Tarantulas hoped things wouldn’t come to, but still.

Prowl

> «Fifteen billion, eight hundred and fifty-four million, four hundred and sixty-nine thousand, one hundred and twenty.» It kept him busy for half a second. «I have to get off now. I’m going to get scanned. I’ll comm you again when they say it’s okay.»

Hook

> « _Nuh-uh_. I’m not gonna take time outta  _takin’ care of Prowl_  to update you.  _He’s_  hurt.  _You_  don’t matter. You can fraggin’  _wait_.»

Tarantulas

> Well then - there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the calculation and spatial awareness facets of Prowl’s processor, which probably mattered the most to him right now. Tarantulas would have to come up with a few other things to see how he could test the rest…
> 
> « _Yes_ , good! And I - alright. Soon, I hope.»
> 
> To Hook: «I didn’t mean  _that_ , I meant - nevermind. Go on.»
> 
> By now the hammock was done, a neat, tightly-woven little thing, but it did Tarantulas absolutely no good whatsoever. He wasn’t about to lounge around while Prowl had a fragging  _pole_  stuck in his optical socket.
> 
> Actually looking around for once, Tarantulas spied the rest of the Constructicons, as well as Soundwave - naturally. Hmn. None of them knew he was here, unless Hook had mentioned it… And it’d be for the best if he hadn’t. Tarantulas would certainly prefer staying incognito, at least until Prowl allowed visitors.

Prowl

> Yes? He got it right. «I can calculate.» He can calculate. Good. That’s a good start. «Okay. Goodbye.» He hangs up.
> 
> It’s ten minutes before he comms again. «They scanned me.»

Tarantulas

> Ten minutes of torture for Tarantulas, thanks. He’d spent most of it contemplating whether he ought to go track Prowl down anyway, but thankfully the comm cut him off before his next opportunity to scuttle through the doorway.
> 
> «Do - do you have access to the scan results? Does Hook? Any changes in your status?»

Prowl

> «Yes. This is my scan.» It probably says more about Prowl’s vision than it does about the results of the x-ray.
> 
> «My status hasn’t changed. They only scanned me. They’re talking about the scan right now. Hook is probably looking at them right now. I think that’s his voice.» He’s gonna. Reach over and stick his hand over Hook’s mouth to see if it’s moving. It is. «That’s his voice.» Hook shoves Prowl’s hand back down.

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to process. «That’s what you -  _goodness_. There’s six ways I could interpret that, it’s not -» But there wasn’t really anything he could do about it - Prowl couldn’t get his hands on anything, and pestering Hook likely wouldn’t get Tarantulas anywhere either.
> 
> Oh - but he  _did_  have a different idea, actually… «Prowl, I - I have some tests I’d like to have you try, if I can find them. Ones I formulated for Ostaros, a modular assessment of processor functioning. If we can administer them before and after your repair that’d be optimal - give me a moment, I’ll…»
> 
> A bit of remote scrounging about on his console and he located the files he wanted. Alright, downloading…

Prowl

> «Tell me all six ways. I want to know them. And I like listening to you say intelligent things.» And how can Tarantulas turn down a request like that?
> 
> «No. No. I don’t want you to scan me unless I have to. Not unless they think they can’t fix me. I don’t want you to scan my head. Stay out of my head.»

Tarantulas

> Of course Tarantulas couldn’t deny  _that_. «…Make that seven. I’m afraid this is more of a ‘show’ thing than a ‘tell’ though - it’s - here.» Tarantulas sent over a few extremely simplistic diagrams of what he  _thought_  the scan could be portraying, none of which looked very fun.
> 
> For a moment Tarantulas was taken aback - he knew Prowl didn’t want him in his head, but put that way, so bluntly… «They - they wouldn’t be scans, I could omit two modules and you wouldn’t have to worry about that. They’re mostly just calculations and observations that’ll tell me - us - what’s going on in your helm, but indirectly, I promise.»

Prowl

> A pause as Prowl looked over them. «Those look bad for my brain module.» Another pause. «I’m afraid.» But he blithely moved on— «If one of those diagrams is correct, which ones can be fixed without irreversible damage?»
> 
> Given the rest of the conversation, is Tarantulas surprised Prowl is so blunt? «I don’t believe that. You scanned me and told me you were scanning for cameras. You could scan me and tell me you’re making calculations and indirect observations. I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference and then you’d have a scan of my head. The only way to prevent that is by not letting you observe me at all. No, that’s incorrect—it wouldn’t prevent you because you could ignore my saying “no” and do it anyway. If you decided you wanted to scan me no matter what, nothing could fully prevent you except either killing you or escaping to somewhere you can’t find me. But I want you to be alive and I can’t escape right now because I have a pipe in my head and I can’t leave without treatment. Please don’t scan my head. The fact that I can’t stop you doesn’t mean it’s okay to do.»

Tarantulas

> Scrap. How much should Tarantulas be telling Prowl? On one hand, every patient deserved to know what was going on with their own body, but -  _afraid_. Prowl was afraid. That was the last thing Tarantulas wanted. And the tests… damnit.  _Damnit_.
> 
> «I can’t say for sure. Those are hypothetical and extremely basic diagrams, there’s nothing I can really  _do_  with them.» Unless Hook were to give Tarantulas the actual scans, but again, unlikely. «But you’ll - you’ll be alright, Prowl. Everyone is doing everything in their power to help you, and we -»  _We care so much and couldn’t bear to see anything happen to you_. But Tarantulas wasn’t really allowed to say that, now was he. He left it unsaid.
> 
> How strange it was to feel so validated by hearing Prowl say ‘I want you to be alive’ - the feeling made Tarantulas cringe afterward for reasons he didn’t have time to think about at the moment. No, he was hung up on the ‘The fact that I can’t stop you doesn’t mean it’s okay to do’ bit instead.
> 
> «I - oh, Prowl. I won’t. I can’t, I won’t. Please don’t - don’t worry about this right now, I was just concerned and thought I had a way to help, but if it’s going to cause you - if it’s going to - please just forget I suggested it in the first place.» Something it pained Tarantulas to say, but he didn’t have much choice, did he?

Prowl

> «Okay. They’re too basic to calculate probable scenarios. You can’t tell me anything. Hook will tell me when he’s done talking to the doctor. I can ask him. It’s okay for patients to ask doctors about their condition.» He might be reminding himself more than Tarantulas.
> 
> «I can’t forget you suggested it. My brain doesn’t work like that. Maybe other people’s brains do, but I think probably they don’t either. I’ll try to believe you if you promise not to scan me without my permission.»

Tarantulas

> «Yes, yes it is.» Tarantulas was pretty sure Prowl was reminding himself and not informing Tarantulas, but it never hurt to reaffirm.
> 
> «They don’t, no, but I didn’t mean it literally - just… I  _promise_  I won’t scan you without your permission. You might not believe me, but if saying it, repeating it, helps - I’ll say it as many times as necessary. I’ve learned, Prowl, and you’re - you’re -»  _You’re the most important thing in my entire life, and I don’t want to risk losing you._

Prowl

> «Okay. I don’t believe you right now, but I’ll try to act like I believe you. That’s what I decided to do when I decided to give you a chance. “You’re” what?»

Tarantulas

> Ah, Prowl’s unfiltered bluntness, forever catching Tarantulas off-guard. «…I suppose that’s fair. I - I hope it eventually solidifies into something more substantial. But right now - we ought to focus on  _you_. Getting you well again so I can have a chance to prove myself in the first place.
> 
> «And - it’s nothing. I was just - just rambling.»
> 
> Wait. Did he  _really_  want to censor himself? What if now was literally the last time he ever got to - what if things changed somehow, what if - what if -

Prowl

> «I hope it solidifies too. I want to trust you. Even if you don’t want to be friends and we’re only going to be allies, I still want to trust you as an ally. But I wish we were friends.»
> 
> What was that? Self-censoring? Is that a thing you can do?

Tarantulas

> Well, if Prowl was going to give him an in…
> 
> «I - I wish we were friends as well. I royally fragged that up, Prowl, I regret everything I said in that awful conversation - well, _almost_  everything, but the point is - it was a disgustingly foolish misunderstanding on my part and I’m - I’m sorry things are as they are. E-especially if… if neither of us want it to be this way.»

Prowl

> «If you wish we were friends why did you say we couldn’t be friends? Why did you say you only wanted to be partners? Do you only want to be friends because I won’t be partners and if we’re friends you can try to push us into acting like partners while calling each other friends?»

Tarantulas

> «I said that because -» OK, what’d Mixmaster said? How could he word this? «…I said it because I was worried we’d never be anything  _more_  than friends. We have incredibly disparate ideas of what the word partner means - I ought to have clarified that - but I know now and I  _don’t_  want to be partners, I want to be  _friends_. A-at the very least.
> 
> «Again, I can’t make you believe me, but I swear upon my life my sentiments are genuine, and I - I hope you’ll allow me the chance to prove it to you.»  _I hope I **have**  the chance to prove it to you._

Prowl

> «Why would you worry that? We have to be friends before we can be something more than friends. Friendship is the foundation. What idea did you have about what the word partner means?»

Tarantulas

> «I - I don’t know why exactly, but it’s moot. And partners, I… said it was an amalgamation and I wasn’t lying in the least, but honestly I’d meant it in a more romantic fashion but didn’t - didn’t want to say so in a forthright way.»
> 
> Cue the discomfited spider crouching down low in his tiny hammock.

Prowl

> «That’s not different from my understanding of partners. “Partners” is an amalgamation of everything from “I love you” to “I hate everything about the way you act” to “I trust you to have my back in a shootout” to “I will shout at you randomly with no discernible pattern.” “Partners” is so broad it covers relationships from “completely negative” all the way to “partially positive,” and from “exclusively professional” all the way to “exclusively romantic.” Partners can be any point on those ranges, and the point might move. That is why I don’t want to have a partner. I don’t want to have a relationship that changes from positive to negative or from romantic to professional without warning or a change in terminology. It makes me unhappy and confused.
> 
> «I’m still unhappy and confused about our relationship. I’m less confused now. I think we should be friends.»

Tarantulas

> «…I  _think_ I understand that. And I don’t want to make you anything  _near_ unhappy or confused if I can help it… Can - can we be friends then, please?» 

Prowl

> «Only if you actually want to be friends, and aren’t just asking to be friends to make me happy. You should be happy being friends too. Otherwise it’s only coercive one-sided friendship.»

Tarantulas

> «I’d  _unequivocally_  be happy being friends.  _Please_.»

Prowl

> «Okay. We’re friends. I can touch your sitters again. Setta. Sittae.»

Tarantulas

> They were  _friends_. Tarantulas wasn’t businesszoned anymore. Thank Primus.
> 
> «Wha - hyeheh,  _setae_ , they’re setae. For the most part. Not  _all_  the hairs are setae, but - this isn’t the time for that.» Yes, don’t forget Prowl still has a pipe in his face. «You have to undergo repairs before that can happen. How’s the situation? Status?»

Prowl

> «Hook says the doctor says there’s no immediate danger. They’re going to put me in a room to wait while they prepare for more serious tests so they can figure out how to safely take the pipe out.»

Tarantulas

> « _Good_. Good. How are you feeling, though? That is to say, I can’t imagine much has changed, but still.» A beat. «Does that mean I - we - can come in to see you soon? Or would that still be a restricted area?»

Prowl

> «I feel the same. Except I have one more friend. That’s good. I’ll ask when they’ve moved me if I can have visitors. A lot of people are coming to visit me. You’ll have to take turns.»

Tarantulas

> «What if I sat on your shoulder, though? Or in your hand? I wouldn’t bother anyone and I’d stay large enough for you to see me…» Totally not pleading a little there, no not at all.

Prowl

> «As long as you only come while I’m allowed to have visitors, that’s okay. Then you’d be small enough that you wouldn’t crowd other people in the room. And I can pet you.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had thought it was a long shot, but to his amazement, apparently it wasn’t. «I - I’d like that very much. Would that help things, petting? Is there anything else I can do that’s not medically related? I could - I could spin you something? Maybe not an entire blanket, hyeh, but something small.»

Prowl

> «Yes. Petting helps. I like your sss—setae. Got it. I don’t think spinning something would help.»

Tarantulas

> «I did get that impression, yes. Hmm… I suppose there’s not really anything else…» A little dissatisfied noise. «Well, besides talking - I can certainly do that if you’re still - if you still want me to.» 
> 
> Should Tarantulas ping Hook for an update? Probably not, but he did anyway.

Prowl

> «No. I don’t think there is. I can’t see or hear very well. Books and videos aren’t good and I don’t want anything I have to plug in because I don’t know if it will bother my processor. I like talking to you.»

Hook

> Hook picked up in a few seconds. «He’s in stable condition for now. Right optic got shoved outta its socket but even it don’t look damaged—maybe a few fractures, but ain’t shattered. Everything’s knocked outta place, though, so we gotta get more detailed scans to make sure he’s not gonna get his brain module shook loose when we pull the pipe out.»

Tarantulas

> It felt incredibly wrong to feel pleased at a time like this, but how could Tarantulas not when Prowl was giving him little affirmations left and right, things he’d never say otherwise, or at least not as straightforwardly?
> 
> «I’m  _more_ than willing to continue talking, then. Can we - would you like an update on Ostaros? Or should we avoid project content for now?»
> 
> To Hook: «That’s - that sounds hopeful. Is there any chance you could send the scans my way…? I sincerely promise I won’t do anything with them or butt in, I just - I just want to look. I  _need_  to.  _Please_.»

Prowl

> «Okay. We can talk about Springer. You really should call him Springer. It’s incredibly rude not to call somebody by their name if it gets changed. I was incredibly rude to change his name in the first place but that doesn’t change the fact that his name is Springer now and you’re disrespecting him by not calling him that.
> 
> «I would like an update but this can’t be an official meeting, because my brain module might be damaged. If I’ve lost my ability to calculate trajectories but don’t know it yet, any suggestions I give you on how to advance the project might be very bad and do great harm if you follow them. So I can’t give you any orders, and if I try to then you can’t accept them, until we know if I can still calculate trajectories.»

Hook

> Hook growled. «Boss has been  _real_  specific ‘bout not wanting you to have scans of him. So  _no._  And don’t think I won’t tell him you tried to go behind his back to get them the moment he was hurt.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s - but he’s - he’s  _Ostaros_. I can’t just… I  _know_  how important names are - believe me, I changed my  _own_  - but that’s exactly why I call him Ostaros, it’s… it’s…» A pile of excuses, that’s what it was, but Tarantulas wasn’t likely to admit that. «…Ostaros is more than a name to me. So, so much more.
> 
> «And - reasonable. I’ll just give you the facts then.» 
> 
> To Hook: « _N-no_ , that’s - I didn’t think  _these_  scans would be a problem! They can’t possibly be that detailed to tell me anything I don’t already know, can they? I merely wanted to see the extent and nature of the injury, it wasn’t deviously meant…» 

Prowl

> «I know the name is very important to you. You made him and chose his name and gave it to him. But he calls himself Springer. I called him it first and that was wrong, but it’s what he calls himself now. You should respect what he calls himself.
> 
> «Okay. Give me the facts. I’m ready.»

Hook

> «I don’t know what you already know, and I ain’t goin’ behind boss’s back to give you stuff he don’t want you having.»

Tarantulas

> «I never even truly got to  _give_  it to him, Prowl. I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it right now.» Please, not after they literally just became friends,  _finally_.
> 
> «Ah, yes - I gave Mixmaster the chemical data and we pared it down to seven possible ununtrium-based structures, which opens things up for physical testing soon, once this… situation is resolved. Additionally, I’ve assembled what I hope is the final prototype for the zero point identification kit - I suppose we can simply call it Z-PIK for now unless you have a better idea, hyeh. Other updates we probably ought to save for later; we’d be dealing in hypotheticals and brainstorming, I wouldn’t want to push that onto you at the moment.»
> 
> Then Tarantulas switched comms and sighed defeatedly. «It’s - it’s alright, forget I asked in the first place. Not  _literally_  forget, just - you understand. …Unlike Prowl, apparently, which - he’s been speaking oddly, has it been the same thing on your end?»

Prowl

> «Okay. We don’t have to talk about it. Maybe someday you can tell him what you originally named him. But you should still call him Springer. If you tell him his original name maybe he’ll want to take it, but he probably won’t.» Prowl meant what he said about not having to talk about it anymore. But he’s not exactly in control of what he says.
> 
> «That’s a good start. You can’t narrow it down anymore without experimentation? How much ununtrium will you need to use? Zeepick. Zzz’pick. Zipick. I don’t like it. It’s not a real word. How close is it to done? How will we test the prototype without Springer?»

Hook

> Hook grunted. «Yeah. S’no surprise; he’s got some pressure on his brain, it might be messin’ things up. That’s one of the reasons we can’t just pull the pipe out without more scans—things might shift wrong once that pressure goes away. It probably won’t, but I ain’t riskin’ it with the boss.»

Tarantulas

> If Tarantulas didn’t respond to the comments about Ostaros, did that mean Prowl would just drop it? Time to see.
> 
> «I could, but at this point I’d risk nixing one that’d bind better than the others, even if it’s not the original composition. I’m still not certain how much ununtrium though.» A pause so Tarantulas could giggle a little at Prowl’s pronunciations. «Fine fine, we’ll just call it the zero point kit, that’s less of a mouthful. I’d say it’s done aside from the fact that we can’t actually test it on him; aside from that though, it’s performed flawlessly on all my synthetic circuit trials. It’s really not a new or difficult concept - it’s just that no one to my knowledge has devised a  _spark_  energy version of this equipment.»
> 
> To Hook: « _Good_ , I - good. Not the pressure bit, I mean, the risk avoidance. …I, I appreciate the update. Do let me know if there’s anything else - otherwise I’ll cease pestering you for now, hyeh.»
> 
> Internally it pained Tarantulas that he had to rely on Hook’s generosity to hear anything substantial about Prowl’s medical state, but he’d take what he could get. It wasn’t  _too_  hard to play nice, apparently.

Prowl

> As it happens, it did.
> 
> «You think you can improve on the original formula? He could be stronger than the Warriors Elite? That’s good. Nothing will be able to kill him. Springer will be safe. Zero point kit is better, those are all real words. How similar are the trials to a real zero point? We’re going to have to deal with the fact that the zero point might be somewhere very difficult to reach or locate. Can the kit identify a break in a place that’s very hard to reach?»

Hook

> Another grunt. «Yeah, yeah.» He paused; and then he added, «Look… I know how much boss matters to you. You’re worried. I get it. But as much as he means to you—he’s a piece of me. I ain’t gonna let nothing bad happen to him.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s  _possible_ , yes. I dearly hope it works out that way, I - I’d love for him to be safe like that. Invincible, really.» Notice how he’s avoiding using names here. «The trials are as close as I can possibly achieve - they’ve been created using data from other actual zero points, which is second best only to an actual zero point. As for maneuverability, it  _should_  be sufficient. I think the only places it might not be able to reach are the tightest corners around the t-cog, but I highly doubt that’s where the zero point is.» 
> 
> Hook earned a weak sigh from Tarantulas. If only he really  _did_  know how much Prowl mattered to him… «Yes, I - I understand, but that won’t stop me from worrying. There’s only so much you can do - there’s only so much  _anyone_  can do.»

Prowl

> «Yes. Me too. He’s a good Autobot and a good person, even if he’s too violent. He deserves that kind of protection. He should survive. I’m proud of him.
> 
> «Springer might have a weird t-cog since he’s a triplechanger. Did you make him a triplechanger on purpose? Or did he develop two alt-modes by luck? I don’t actually know if triplechangers have weird t-cogs.»

Hook

> «Yeah. Yeah, I know. You’re gonna worry until he’s fine again. I get it.»

Tarantulas

> «I’m - I’m proud of him too.» Even though he didn’t turn out to be what Tarantulas - no, Mesothulas - wanted; even then. «Did you not know his…? Yes, he  _does_ have a ‘weird’ t-cog, in the sense that it’s not the average make per se, although it’s true of all multichangers that they have unusually complex t-cog mechanisms. I could - hold on. I could scrounge up a general mapping of his if you’d like, for elaboration’s sake.»
> 
> To Hook: «And so will you. We’re, hyeh, we’re in the same boat on this one.»

Prowl

> «No, I didn’t know he was going to be a triplechanger until he was one. I thought he was just a grounder until one day I saw him transform and take off. It was surprising and a little bit terrifying. Imagine looking at someone you think is a car and then suddenly they twist into what looks like a mutilated car and launch straight up into the sky. I thought my optics were flinching until I figured it out. It’s funny now. Yes, I’d like to see the general mapping. I probably won’t understand it but it will probably be interesting anyway.»

Hook

> Hook thought about that a moment. «Huh. Yeah, I guess. Kinda.»

Tarantulas

> «You -  _really_? Mesothulas never mentioned it to you? I can imagine that was quite shocking, but honestly how could you not have noticed the extra kibble and all that?» An incredulous noise as Tarantulas proceeded to track down Ostaros’ - no, Springer’s - t-cog file and sent it to Prowl. Among [various metaphorical t-cog shapes](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Ftonyfisherpuzzles.net%2Fimages%2F1200%2520res%25206th%2520april%25202009b.jpg&t=NzYwMjQ3Y2I4NTIyZjJmOTg2ZWMwZGUwZjg3MTYxZTA2YWFmM2ZjZSx4cTA1aHRpOQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158327455999%2Fprowl-no-i-didnt-know-he-was-going-to-be-a&m=1), his was more along the lines of [this one](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fs-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com%2F736x%2Fe1%2F77%2F21%2Fe17721f662d1c39ab4b0bfa5babfb849.jpg&t=Nzk0NWI3YzA3MTgwMjhmMmI4YzU2ZjNjNWQ3MGVjZjcwNDlkZjM5Nyx4cTA1aHRpOQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158327455999%2Fprowl-no-i-didnt-know-he-was-going-to-be-a&m=1).
> 
> At Hook’s admittance, Tarantulas laughed a little, not unkindly. «Again, I’ll cease pestering you; you know my requests.»

Prowl

> «No, he didn’t tell me. Springer didn’t have a lot of kibble when we left, and I didn’t see him for a while after I dropped him off. I was trying to avoid him. That’s a complicated t-cog. How does it work? Why is it so different?»
> 
> A brief pause, then: «Actually—my processor is heating up. One of my fans is broken. I can’t think too hard. Maybe we shouldn’t talk for a bit until my processor cools back down. I think too much when we talk.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was just about to go on when Prowl cut him off. «Oh? Oh goodness, that’s - I suppose that makes sense, but - do we have to stop talking  _entirely_? I can steer clear of anything too complex…?» He trailed off with a bit of a whine.

Prowl

> «When have we ever successfully steered clear of anything too complex? That’s ninety percent of what we talk about, and the other ten percent is awkward floundering until we can find something complex to discuss. I’m rounding percentages to the nearest ten. What’s wrong with me.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s not  _that_  awkward - I -» …Maybe it was. Nevermind.
> 
> «…If you insist. But please,  _do_ keep me updated, or have Hook do so. I’m not very skilled at waiting patiently.» 

Prowl

> «Okay. I will.»
> 
> Pause.
> 
> «… I don’t know how to hang up. You have to hang up.»

Tarantulas

> «…Really? I - alright. I’ll speak with you soon, Prowl.» 
> 
> A few hesitant seconds, then Tarantulas hung up as requested.

Prowl

> «Yes. Really. It’s like… not like I’ve  _forgotten_ , but I can’t figure out how to—»
> 
> And that’s the end of his rambling. Hallelujah.


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is still out of commission; a spider visits; everyone ends up feeling awkward.

Prowl

> «The doctors aren't here right now and I don't know when my next test or operation will be. Can you sneak into my room and sit on my lap while I pet you?»

Tarantulas

> Could Prowl pet him.  _Could Prowl pet him_. Tarantulas had to stop himself from replying instantaneously and emphatically, and even when he did reply he probably came off a little too eager.
> 
> «Yes,  _certainly_  - just give me a moment and I’ll be there. Do you know what room you’re in?»

Prowl

> «No, but it should be here.» Coordinates. «Unless they moved me while I was unconscious.»
> 
> Good, Tarantulas is coming. Prowl will warn the four Constructicons standing guard.
> 
> They’re outraged.

Tarantulas

> «I’ll inquire at the nurse’s station then if you’ve been moved, hyeh.» By which he means he’ll drop down on a thread and rifle through their files.
> 
> As promised, it took no time at all for Tarantulas to show up at Prowl’s door, which had a sizable enough crack at the bottom for the spider to sneak under. Then it was only a matter of crawling in close enough to get a peek at that dastardly pipe in Prowl’s head - and Tarantulas froze completely.

Prowl

> By the time Tarantulas shows up, the Constructicons are done being outraged—but they’re still miffed.
> 
> The pipe is still sticking straight out of his face. And the area around it doesn’t look much better. His nasal ridge has been broken and tilted over toward his left optic, which is visibly cracked. His helm is dented and damaged, and his chevron is snapped off over the pipe. He’s been cleaned up, at least, but there’s a bit of dried energon against the side of Prowl’s nasal ridge and over his lip from where it started leaking again.
> 
> On the bright side, he’s got about thirty magnets on his lap.

Tarantulas

> “Oh  _Prowl_  -”
> 
> It took Tarantulas a good few seconds to collect himself again, but when he did he was scurrying over to the side of the berth and sizing up to put two spider legs up on the edge. He ignored the Constructicons entirely, focusing instead on giving little touches with his pedipalps on Prowl’s plating.
> 
> “I’m so, so sorry for you, Prowl, this is  _awful_  - you’re still not in any pain, are you?”

Prowl

> “Hey, the bug’s—” “Frag!” “Ya coulda  _warned_  us you were here!”
> 
> “Tarantulas?” Prowl reached vaguely toward his voice, tilting his head to try to catch him in a part of his optic that wasn’t fractured. Luckily a black-purple blurr on a white-silver blur was easy to pick out. “You came. Good. I’m glad.” He tentatively reached out to run a finger on Tarantulas’s… somewhere. Somewhere on his back. Vaguely. “Hello.”
> 
> He leaned over to retrieve a box from the floor; the Constructicons figured out what he was doing, and Scavenger stepped forward to help him get all the magnets back into it. “I’m not in pain,” he said. “I turned my pain receptors off. I can’t feel my face.”

Tarantulas

> Nope, not a word to the Constructicons. Tarantulas was all eyes (all eight of them) for Prowl, gently pushing up into his touch.
> 
> “Of  _course_  I came.” A bit of worried bruxing as he inspected Prowl’s injury up close. “That’s - that’s good. Turn off as much as you need to if anything else begins to hurt.”
> 
> As soon as the magnets were mostly collected, Tarantulas clambered up onto Prowl’s lap and let the petting hands guide him where they may. Hmm, but maybe he wasn’t quite the right size - Tarantulas shifted to roughly the span of a throw pillow, then thought to ask: “How large would you like me to be, hm?”

Prowl

> He held still, trying to focus on Tarantulas’s face as best as he could with an optic that could not, in fact, focus. “Nothing else hurts right now. If pain starts spreading farther than my head, that would be a very bad sign. I actually don’t know what that would mean. Hopefully I won’t have to find out.”
> 
> Prowl settled back as Tarantulas climbed onto his lap. The top half of the berth was up at a 51.66° angle (Prowl hoped, or else his calculator was  _really_  going), so he wasn’t quite laying down but not quite up either. It gave Tarantulas a lot of lap room to work with. “From about here to here.” Prowl gestured from just below his bumper to right above his knees. “I want you to be small enough to stay on me, but large enough that I can feel your weight and have a lot of area to pet you.”
> 
> Bonecrusher made a gagging sound. The others quickly imitated it.
> 
> “Don’t be mean. I’m injured.”

Tarantulas

> “I dearly hope so too,” Tarantulas replied, fretting quietly. Spreading pain could mean any of a number of things he’d really rather not think about.
> 
> As soon as Prowl gave the word, Tarantulas shifted to the indicated size and settled in, his many limbs curling around Prowl’s torso at different angles. Primus, it was so  _nice_  to be able to touch Prowl again - he’d almost forgotten what he’d been missing…
> 
> Tarantulas’ voice was probably muffled a little from underneath Prowl’s bumper. “They oughtn’t be mean even if you  _aren’t_  injured, but that seems like a futile request to make.” Some wiggling as he got comfortable, along with little pets to Prowl’s sides.

Prowl

> “Legs.” Prowl’s hands fluttered over Tarantulas’s many limbs. “Lots of legs. Good. You’re holding me.” He moved his hands slowly from the legs inward, until he settled his hands into the fuzz on Tarantulas’s cephalothorax. “Good.” His fingers burrowed into the fur. “Good. This feels nice.”
> 
> “It was fun for a while,” Long Haul lamented, “but I’m really missin’ you not sayin’ literally everything you think.”
> 
> “I’m missing it too,” Prowl said. “I miss not having a pipe in my head too. And sleeping curled up. I don’t like laying like this. Petting helps. Is it okay to ruffle your setae up or should I only smooth it down?”

Tarantulas

> The handful of words from Prowl was enough to have Tarantulas softly purring. Yes, he was holding Prowl. Yes, it felt nice. Yes, it was very, very good. And that was all that really mattered to him at the moment - aside from the whole pole-in-head thing, of course.
> 
> “It’s really best for the moment if you lie back, I’m afraid.” The spider on Prowl’s lap pressed down slightly, reminding him of his weight and hopefully reassuring him as well. “You  _can_  try to ruffle it; it doesn’t feel uncomfortable per se, but it’s very determinedly unidirectional. Anything that feels pleasant for you, really.”

Prowl

> “I know it’s best if I lie back. It’s still unpleasant. I don’t like how it feels. It’s like being stuck.”
> 
> He combed his fingers up against Tarantulas’s fur. “You’re right. It goes back to its original position when I try to push it away.” He smoothed it down, then combed it back again. “This feels pleasant.”

Tarantulas

> A slightly distressed noise from Tarantulas, and he removed some of his weight from on top of Prowl’s body. “Do you feel stuck with me on your lap, then? Do let me know if I ought to move, we can figure something else out, certainly.”
> 
> Ohh, that felt so nice, even if it was somewhat strange to feel the hairs resist. “It’s because of the follicles.” A ping with [a microscopic image](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Farthropoda.files.wordpress.com%2F2010%2F01%2Ftarantula.jpg&t=NmU3OTNjZTIxOGU0NjFiYWQwZDllNjI1ZGQxMThjZTU4ZTJhOGU1MCxJNkpXS09TMg%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F158329295804%2Fprowl-i-know-its-best-if-i-lie-back-its-still&m=1). “I can somewhat change the angle -” He fluffed up his fur for a moment. “- but most of the time it’s best they lie flat. Less energy expended.”

Prowl

> “No no come back, I like your weight on me.” He gently pushed Tarantulas back down. “I don’t like being on my back because it’s hard to get off of it, the way it’s shaped, with the roof all in one piece and the doors getting in the way of my arms. You can bend your back to help you sit up and I can’t.”
> 
> Prowl pulled his hands back as Tarantulas’s fur stood up. “Fluff.” And then immediately started exploring it with his hands. “Follicles look weird. Why does changing the angle expend more energy? Does your fluff retain heat and lose it when the individual fibers are separated like that?” Pet, pet. He switched to stroking Tarantulas’s fur down the direction it was supposed to go. “I want to interface with you.”
> 
> The Constructicons immediately started making noises of shock and indignation.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas allowed himself to be pressed down, letting his weight settle once again. “That’s logical - I’ll keep it in mind. There isn’t any other way for your frame to be configured to allow at least a modicum of flexibility…?”
> 
> A soft hum as Prowl explored the fluff - the sensations were more acute when his hairs were lifted, a more prickly sort of thing, but not unpleasant. “The mechanism controlling follicle position has a resting state of roughly 10° relative to the exoskeleton, so it requires work to adjust and maintain a different angle. I retain more heat when the setae are lifted due to the differential air volume between fibers, but in general having the setae means -
> 
> “ _W-what_?”
> 
> Tarantulas jerked back, propping himself up on front legs to look at Prowl over his bumper. A moment of stunned stuttering, then: “Why do - w-where in the world did  _that_  come from? I mean - as a conversational non sequitur, that is to say - I personally don’t -”

Prowl

> “No. My back is extremely sturdy. I like my back the way it is. I don’t like laying down on it.”
> 
> Stroke, stroke. “Why don’t you design the follicles so that they can shift between two different states and lock in place, then? Instead of having to work to keep them upright.”
> 
> He stopped petting when Tarantulas shifted under him and started stuttering. “I’m not sure where it came from. Give me a moment, I’ll retrace my thoughts.” He’s verbalizing  _almost_  all his thoughts, but some of them flit through too quickly to make it to his mouth. “I was thinking about your weight on my legs, and then thought it might be uncomfortable for you to balance on top of my thighs, and then I thought about separating my knees so you could rest in between them instead, and then I thought about you in robot mode in between my legs so I could wrap my legs around your waist. Now I’m thinking about my tires on my heels rubbing your thighs, and that seems like a bad idea, because the friction of rubber against the setae might pull them out of their follicles, which would probably be painful for you, especially since sometimes my tires spin while I’m interfacing. So it would probably be best to keep my tires away from any of your organic surfaces so we wouldn’t risk creating bald spots.”
> 
> He could have been discussing the weather. Only two of the Constructicons were spluttering indignantly now; the other two were leaning on each other for support, laughing hysterically.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas would have answered Prowl’s very intelligent and interesting anatomical question, except for the fact that Prowl proceeded to drown it out with a slew of  _differently_  interesting comments. Primus almighty.
> 
> It was probably a good thing Tarantulas didn’t have any biolights or expressive features in alt mode, but even then, his stuttering and fur-fluffing probably gave him away anyhow. “You -  _Prowl_. You can’t just - w-well - I suppose you can’t  _help_ it right now, but honestly that was a  _rhetorical_  question that I wasn’t expecting -” A lapse into unintelligibility. Ugh. If only the Constructicons would just stop laughing…
> 
> When Tarantulas spoke up a moment later, it was via his encrypted commline to Prowl. «I - I don’t want you to get the mistaken impression that I’m not interested in interfacing as well, because I obviously unequivocally  _am_ , b-but I don’t think now is the proper time or place for a vocalized discussion of details therein, considering - well, considering a  _lot_  of things. Although I’d like to mention that pain isn’t exactly a deterring factor when considering interfacing activities.» The last bit was spoken hastily, as if tacked on (awkwardly) offhand.

Prowl

> “If you ask me a question, I’m going to think about the answer, whether it was rhetorical or not.” A pause—and he added, “If you take advantage of that to ask me questions you know or strongly suspect I wouldn’t want to answer, I’m having the Constructicons kick you out and I'll—punish you somehow when I’m better. And we might not be friends anymore. Although I’m loathe to go that far, it took us this damn long to get that far.”
> 
> Long Haul—who’d finally recovered from his laughter—trudged up to the head of Prowl’s bed. “Maybe one of us should be on hand to shut you up.” He took a chair. “In case ya start sayin’ something we think you shouldn’t. Cover your mouth for you.”
> 
> “Agreed. Good idea. Be careful about the pipe.”
> 
> “Course.”
> 
> Another unfortunate side-effect to Prowl’s current condition: if you’re face-to-face to him and try to switch to comms, he will not get the message. He will just keep talking out loud. Like this. “I know you’re interested in interfacing with me. Although you have a difficult time saying so out loud for reasons I cannot understand, you’re interested in kissing me and interested in watching me masturbate; in individuals with sexual desires—which you have said you have—that correlates very highly with a desire to interface. Thus.”
> 
> (The Constructicons, who didn’t know what Prowl was replying to, stared at him in confusion a moment; but as they figured out that he was replying to something Tarantulas had said over comms—and that they were hearing it through Prowl—they started fighting back giggles. Bonecrusher, shoulders trembling, looked at the floor like he was praying for strength.)
> 
> “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with discussing it here, it’s not as though we can discuss anything more important before the doctors have determined whether I have processor damage. Unless you didn’t actually mean the time and place are improper, but that you yourself can’t focus on a conversational topic like interfacing while I have a pipe in my head. Or maybe you meant you’re simply uncomfortable talking about the topic in general with me—which I know you are, because of the eggs conversation, and so I’m sorry that we’re talking about it. That’s not an ‘I’ll try to fix it’ ‘I’m sorry,’ because I’m pretty sure I can’t right now. If you’d like me to inflict pain on you when we interface, I’m willing to oblige, but there are probably far better ways to do that than with tires on your setae.”
> 
> Bonecrusher snorted so hard his engine backfired. Scavenger patted his shoulder.

Tarantulas

> “I’m not - of  _course_  I wouldn’t ask you leading questions,” Tarantulas protested uselessly. Ah well, probably for the best that Long Haul was willing to intervene, it’d probably save Tarantulas’ aft in the long run.
> 
> … _Slag_.
> 
> By the time Prowl was done with his rambling, Tarantulas had fluffed up even more and step-step-stepped back a bit on Prowl’s lap. This was - it was just too much awkward to handle. _Why. Why was Long Haul not stopping_   _him_.
> 
> “It - it’s not - it is  _entirely_  about the time and place, specifically,  **now** when you’ve suffered severe head trauma, and  **here** with - with  _this_  lot - that is to say, I’m not necessarily against them knowing information pertaining to - because that’s unfortunately  _inevitable_ , but -”
> 
> Ignore Bonecrusher’s snort. Ignore the egg and masochism comments. Don’t say anything about it and it won’t stick around in Prowl’s mind.  _Don’t_.
> 
> Maybe if he tried to distract him instead…? “Try not to - just -  _anything_  else. Please, if you could focus on literally anything else. Think about multichanger t-cogs or energon filtering or - or natural disasters, I don’t care.”

Prowl

> “You would ask me leading questions,” Prowl asserted. “Or you would have, at least, prior to my lecture. You’ve been behaving so far, but I don’t know if it’s the start of a permanent change, or only something you’re doing until you think you can get away with reverting to your more inconsiderate, manipulative behaviors. I hope it’s a permanent change; but there’s only an eight percent chance of that without further infractions and arguments, much less without psychiatric help.”
> 
> Long Haul wasn’t stopping him because Prowl wasn’t saying anything Long Haul thought Prowl wouldn’t want Tarantulas to know, of course. Besides, it was funny.
> 
> Prowl sat up slightly when Tarantulas scooted back. “Don’t leave. Please.” He held out a hand, supplicating Tarantulas to come back up to his bumper. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with talking about it while I’m injured or while they’re listening. Unless it’s because they’re laughing. But they’re only laughing because you’re uncomfortable. Right?”
> 
> “And because you’re actin’ nutty,” Mixmaster added.
> 
> “And because I’m acting nutty. Don’t call me nutty. I don’t like it.”
> 
> Mixmaster shrugged.
> 
> “So I don’t understand why you think—feel?—that the circumstances are ill-suited for discussing interfacing. But I’ll try to think about something different. Multichanger—I don’t know enough about multichanger t-cogs to fill my mind with that. Energon filtering. When we finish our first construction project, we’re going t—”
> 
> Long Haul gently placed his massive hand over Prowl’s mouth. “S'classified.”

Tarantulas

> “E-eight percent?” For some reason the number was more shocking than it should have been. But then again, it dropped into the background as Prowl kept going. “I’m -  _no_ \- psychiatric help is  _out of the question_.” Prowl should’ve known better than to bring that up, but of course he really didn’t have much choice what came out of his mouth at the moment, did he?
> 
> Tarantulas hesitated as Prowl beckoned to him. “I just don’t - why would I want to talk about interfacing when you’re in a state like  _this_? Not just the physical injury, it’s more like - I don’t think, at least in retrospect, you’ll want to have  _had_ such a conversation in the first place, regardless whether it was on your mind at the time.” Somewhat of an excuse, but at least it was a valid one, Tarantulas thought.
> 
> Classified? Automatically that piqued Tarantulas’ interest. “Are you  _sure_  you can’t let me know? Just a little bit, a tiny morsel. Does it have to do with the energon formula you gave me before?”

Prowl

> “Eight percent. And that’s the real number. I didn’t just choose it because you like eight. I never fudge my statistics.”
> 
> Prowl nodded. “I know. Psychiatric help isn’t an option for you. I empathize with your fears. It doesn’t change the fact that historically, behavior like yours has proven to be nearly impossible to cure without psychiatric intervention. We’re just going to have to muddle through this without the use of the only tool with a statistically significant chance of helping.”
> 
> Prowl has to think about that. “I think I would be okay with talking about it if my mind were normal, because we’re friends now. And with some safety measures in place, you nearly meet the minimum probability threshold for not being a threat during interface. We could interface soon.”
> 
> At Tarantulas’s wheedling, Long Haul leaned forward. “Oh no ya don’t. Didn’t you just promise you weren’t gonna take advantage of Prowl and ask about stuff he don’t wanna answer?”

Tarantulas

> “I  _know_  you never do, it’s just -” No, no, think about it another time, Tarantulas. You’ve got too many conversation threads going at once - no need to stress Prowl’s brain module by hopping from one to the other. Subsequently, that meant ignoring Prowl’s comments on psychiatry, which Tarantulas was more than eager to do, but…
> 
> Just when he’d thought he was starting to regain some composure - nope. Denied. “ _W-what_  safety measures? Not to say that I’m not still upset at the fact that I’m considered a  _threat_ , but I can’t exactly - that is to say -”
> 
> _How soon is **soon**_?
> 
> A squint in Long Haul’s direction and a quick: “ _He_  didn’t say he didn’t want to answer, but I - I get the point.” Meaning he’d just bookmark the topic to come back to later.

Prowl

> “No webs. Me being on top. Maybe tying you up. The Constructicons being close enough to intervene should you overstep your boundaries. At least one ally being informed before and after we interface so someone knows where to come look for me if I disappear.”
> 
> Long Haul loomed more heavily over Tarantulas. “He ain’t protestin’, is he?” Prowl offered a thumbs up; no, no protests, Long Haul made the right call.

Tarantulas

> Good thing Tarantulas couldn’t hiss at Long Haul, otherwise he just might’ve. It wasn’t so much about the fact that Tarantulas wasn’t getting what he wanted, as it was about Long Haul being so insufferable about being right. However, it wasn’t worth fighting over. Tarantulas would leave it there.
> 
> Obviously he had more pressing things to talk about. Tarantulas had to suppress an ‘ _I can do that_ ’ from instantly leaving his vocalizer; he wasn’t about to be  _that_ embarrassingly eager, at least not in front of an audience.
> 
> “T-that’d be really all it would - that’s literally the gap that’d need to be crossed before you and I - ?” Take Tarantulas’ following pause as you will. Really, it was positively chuck-full with implications. “I suppose I’m not  _against_  talking about it then - well, provided a few things, probably.”

Prowl

> Right. The danger of energon talk is gone. Prowl frees himself from Long Haul’s hand. “Maybe. I would have to put more thought into it. And sleep on it. Those are just my preliminary thoughts on what would be necessary. What few things need to be provided for you to be okay talking about it?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t believe this was happening. An accidental conversation about future interfacing was transpiring in a crowded hospital room, with Prowl with a pole in his head, Tarantulas in spider mode on his lap, and the Constructicons supervising. But how could Tarantulas say  _no_?
> 
> “…Does that make it one of those potentially dangerous situations in which we’d have to spend forty-eight hours apart?” Tarantulas couldn’t help but laugh silently at that one, although the humor was short-lived. What  _did_  he need?
> 
> “…If we were to talk about such things - well - first and foremost, we’d have to find a way to convince our audience not treat the whole thing as a farce. Aside from that, I… hmn… I might want to be in root mode, although that really seems infeasible, but… I suppose all I’d really need is a moment to - to  _consider_.” Tarantulas flattened a bit onto Prowl’s legs. “I  _suppose_  I could do so aloud, and with company.”

Prowl

> “No. Those are for things that might hurt other people. But I might want a couple of days to think about it anyway. Not because it’s a rule, but because I want that.
> 
> Prowl glanced at the door. “I don’t think transforming is safe right now. You might need to shrink and hide. I think the Constructicons can take the conversation more seriously if you stop being so awkward about it. Maybe.” He looked at them. One vague nod and two shrugs. “They’d better treat it seriously because they care about me and what happens to me and this is directly related to that.”

Tarantulas

> “Fair, fair enough. Not that I’m saying - not starting  _now_ , this isn’t - of course not.” Definitely not considering the current situation.
> 
> Tarantulas made a funny noise. “I can’t simply  _stop_  being awkward, but I’ll put forth my best effort. Clearly I’m…  _not disinterested_  in having such a discussion.” That was, of course, putting it lightly.
> 
> He left it up to Prowl to actually further the topic though - it was Prowl who required the safety measures, after all.

Prowl

> “No. Not now. I’m not interested right now. No, that’s an imprecise phrase. I am interested, right now, in the possibility of future encounters, while not currently desiring an encounter.”
> 
> Don’t leave it up to Prowl. The things that come out of his mouth are currently at the whim of whatever breeze blows through his head. The breeze Tarantulas just blew is not on topic. “No. If it were possible to simply stop being awkward, nobody would be awkward. I’m not going to tell you to stop being awkward because that’s not a command that’s possible to obey. I’m just advising you on the necessary measures to stop the Constructicons from laughing every few comments.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes, I quite understand - my sentiments mirror yours.” For once they were actually on the same page, it seemed.
> 
> Tarantulas did steam a little at the elaboration, but he got the point. Attempting to make himself at least physically more comfortable, he stepped back into the requested position on Prowl’s lap, letting one of his fuzzy tarsi brush up against Prowl’s side.
> 
> “We’ll see what I can do, then.” Alright, how to poke Prowl in the right direction… “What comments would those be, though? T-that is to say, what about interfacing would you be interested in discussing at the moment? Obviously safety measures, but…?”

Prowl

> “Yes. Good. That’s a good thing.”
> 
> And now Tarantulas was back on Prowl’s lap. “Good.” Guess whose hands are in his fur again. “What comments would the Constructicons laugh at? Any comments, if they found your reaction to them humorous enough. I don’t think I want to discuss safety measures right now. I need time to think about them by myself without spitting out the very first thing that pops into my head. You are taking the first things out of my mouth seriously. I think you’re still under the misconception that my thoughts are currently being screened for quality before they’re shared. That’s not a good situation to discuss delicate matters like mutually acceptable security measures.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s hands in Tarantulas’ fur was soothing in a sense - or at the very least, they were a distraction from the buzz of uncomfortable thoughts in the back of his mind.
> 
> “I’m taking them seriously because they  _are_  serious in a sense; they’re still your thoughts even though they’re unfiltered. But I - yes, I respect that this might not quite be the time for that kind of negotiation.”
> 
> A pause - was there really anything about interfacing that  _wouldn’t_  be a delicate matter for them? Maybe it was best just to avoid the subject altogether, despite the fact that it’d come to Prowl’s mind. As was mentioned, Prowl wasn’t in control right now. It’d be the  _right_  thing not to toy with that, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t that be what Prowl would want…?
> 
> “…Do you currently have any capacity to actively prevent yourself from talking, or are your thoughts automatically vocalized no matter what?”

Prowl

> “They’re serious but they’re not accurate. They’re wrong representations of my true thoughts because they’re just the random first drafts of what I really think.”
> 
> Prowl shook his head. Carefully, to not disturb the pipe. “No. It’s all automatic. That’s why he’s here.”
> 
> He tried to point at Long Haul. He smacked him in the face. “ _Frag_.”
> 
> “Sorry.” He patted Long Haul’s head. “If it wasn’t automatic, I wouldn’t have mentioned interfacing at all, because I know you’re uncomfortable with it, plus I’m in the hospital so we couldn’t do anything about it anyway.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas may or may not have giggled a little while Long Haul got smacked, but he disguised it in a shifting movement beneath Prowl’s hands. Nothing like a little physical humor to lighten the mood, after all.
> 
> “That’s understandable enough. In any case, we’re free to move on.”  _More_  than free. “I’ll just have to - I’m not used to you being in such a mental state, it’s -  _disorienting_. Far moreso for you than for me, I’d wager, but. Hyeh. Yes.”
> 
> What’s something else he could use to nudge Prowl into a different train of thought? “…When  _do_  you have anything coming up? That is to say, how long do we anticipate me being able to stay?” This was partially directed at the Constructicons as well.

Prowl

> “It’s very disorienting. I keep saying things and people keep reacting to them. Why do people keep reacting to them? Everyone keeps changing their behavior on the basis of things I say and I don’t understand why. It doesn’t make sense.”
> 
> The Constructicons shrugged. Prowl answered, “I don’t know. Hook’s working on that right now.”

Tarantulas

> “Just because you don’t mean to say what you do doesn’t mean it’s not been said. Besides, it’s difficult for the other party to filter out what you do or don’t mean to verbalize, so it’s instinctive just to - to react to it  _all_.”
> 
> A hum, somewhat unhappily made. “Very well… although, might it be alright for me to stick around anyway while other parties are present? That is to say, if I were to shrink down and tuck myself away somewhere so that I oughtn’t run back and forth all over the hospital…? Though I’d certainly give you space if you were to ask,” Tarantulas tacked on hastily.

Prowl

> “How is it instinctive? If I say ‘it’s dark tonight, the moon isn’t out,’ I’m not—not asking for Luna Two’s orbit to change, I’m just stating a fact. I keep stating facts and people act like they’re requests.”
> 
> Prowl shook his head. “No, when the doctors are in here, I don’t want you here and I don’t want you watching or listening.”

Tarantulas

> “It’s as if - well, if you’re saying ‘it’s dark,’ generally I’m supposed to say something in  _reply_ , either an affirmative or some other opinion or fact pertaining to what you said. It’s hard to tell what you mean to say and what you don’t, so I don’t know what to reply to and what to ignore, that’s all.
> 
> “And I -” Give Tarantulas a moment to sulk. “…A-alright. Very well.”

Prowl

> “But there’s a difference between replying and reacting—and you keep reacting. Everyone keeps reacting. I don’t understand.” That might have something to do with the injury.
> 
> “And you what? You want to be here? What you want doesn’t matter. I’m the injured one. My privacy matters.”

Tarantulas

> “…I don’t really get what the difference is,” Tarantulas replied, confusion evident in his voice. “In any case, I’m - I’m sorry? Is that a reasonable thing to say in this situation?”
> 
> A vague huff. “Sometimes I start sentences I don’t know how to finish. But  _yes_ , I understand, and I’ll give you that privacy.” 

Prowl

> “It’s obvious,” Prowl said simply. Apparently so obvious that he didn’t (or couldn’t) think about why it was so obvious, because he didn’t elaborate. “I don’t think apologizing is appropriate. Unless you’re doing that thing where people say ‘I’m sorry’ to mean ‘I feel compassion for your suffering, but I have nothing to do with it myself.’”
> 
> A shrug. “I don’t know how you were going to finish it either. That was just the first thought I had.”

Tarantulas

> “That - probably that thing.” His tone was still a bit awkward, but at least they hadn’t accidentally spiraled down into an argument or the like.
> 
> Some shifting in Prowl’s lap, and Tarantulas petted him just a bit - he was trying to avoid sulking. “…Fair. I don’t exactly have the most  _spotless_  history therein. But see - I’m doing well now, aren’t I?”

Prowl

> “Okay. That’s an acceptable reason to apologize.” Awkward tone? What awkward tone? Whose? Where?
> 
> Prowl reached up to pet the paw petting him. “I don’t know if you’re doing well. You might just be better at lying, and biding your time by agreeing to play along with the little things so you can ‘cash in’ later on the big things. I don’t know. I don’t think you’re that nefarious, but I don’t know. You look like you’re doing better, though. I hope you are.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had to remind himself not to automatically jump on what Prowl was saying - he didn’t  _have_  to, Prowl was just speaking what came to mind, right? Let it process, and pick out the parts  _you_  want to respond to.
> 
> “I - I hope I am too - and I quite hope I can convince you of it. The truth, I mean, which is that I  _am_  doing better, inasmuch as I can.” Why was it so difficult to find the words to make sure he  _didn’t_  sound nefarious? The hand on his paw helped keep him stabilized, at least.

Prowl

> “I hope you’re telling the truth too. If you are, soon I’ll see it, because there won’t be lies for me to discover. I really want to be able to trust you.”
> 
> The door slid open, and Hook walked in. “Okay Prowl, I got ya another scan set up for— What’s  _he_  doin’ here?”
> 
> “Sitting on me.”
> 
> “I—yeah Prowl, I can see that.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was about to attempt another response when Hook strode in. Ugh. This was already strange enough with the other Constructicons in the room - he didn’t need to be called attention to  _again_  by the one most likely to shoo him off.
> 
> “I - Prowl  _asked_  for me to come visit,” he added preemptively.

Prowl

> “I did ask him to visit,” Prowl confirmed. “I wanted him to sit on me so I could pet his fuzz. So he did. It was nice.”
> 
> “Yeah?” Hook grunted. “Well, ask him to  _leave._  Got you another scan in fifteen minutes, nurse is gonna be here any minute. Gotta give him room to work.”
> 
> The other Constructicons radiated smugness. Hook looked at them. “That means you lot gotta go too.” The smugness morphed into a chorus of disappointed protests. “Shaddup, I’ll keep ya updated. But you’re crowdin’ the room. Go on.”
> 
> Grumbling, they started trudging out of the room. Scavenger stopped to give Prowl’s ped a squeeze before leaving. Long Haul, however, stayed at the head of Prowl’s bed.
> 
> He glowered at Tarantulas. “I ain’t leaving ‘til the bug’s gone.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas lingered for as long as he could possibly get away with while the Constructicons filed out - but naturally one of them had to go and be rude about kicking him out too. Tarantulas bristled, but remained composed.
> 
> “Can you  _please_  impress upon the Constructions - all of them, and when you have the time of course - that I am absolutely  **not**  a bug? I’d very much appreciate it.”
> 
> Reluctantly, off he went though, stepping back and gradually sizing down to Earth size in Prowl’s lap. Thankfully he did remember not to go any smaller, at least in Prowl’s presence.

Prowl

> “I don’t actually know what the difference is,” Prowl said. Long Haul laughed.
> 
> When Tarantulas shrank, Prowl immediately tensed. “No no no, stop. I can’t see you. You’re too small.” Damaged optics. It took a lot less for Tarantulas to get too small for Prowl. “I need to see you. I need to know you’ve left the room. Get bigger. Please. Please.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas tried not to poof up more at the admission. “ _It’s_ \- nevermind. I’ll explain another time.”
> 
> The thought was lost in a minor flurry of panic at Prowl’s anxiety. Instantaneously Tarantulas resized to a lap-pillow again, although not quite as large as before.
> 
> “I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know how much -” He just hadn’t thought about it, really. A bit of stepping around to make sure Prowl physically felt he was there, too, although he wouldn’t leave until he’d smoothed things over somewhat.

Prowl

> “Okay. I want to know. But another time.”
> 
> Okay. Okay. Prowl’s hand ghosted over Tarantulas’s now-larger form. “Good.” He slowly relaxed. “My optic is damaged. You got too small for me to see your blur. Just… leave normally.”

Tarantulas

> “Yes - yes of course. I should have anticipated.” Stepstepstep, but then Tarantulas was pausing in confusion. “Normally - as in, root mode? Or simply as an oversized spider wandering out into the hall? I’m not terribly keen on either of those.”

Prowl

> “Either one—root mode or beast mode. I meant to say spider mode. Ignore the fact that I said beast mode. So that I can see you go, and so that the Constructicons can see you go and be sure you didn’t just shrink back into a spider and turn around and come back in the moment you’ve left my sight.”

Tarantulas

> Although he flinched slightly at the misnomer, Tarantulas dutifully did his best to ignore it anyway. “I’ll - I’ll figure something out, I suppose. Let’s just pray there aren’t many people out in the hallway, then.”
> 
> And with that, Tarantulas clambered off the berth and shortly reappeared in full size root mode. No missing him leaving now, it seemed.
> 
> “Do comm me if you need me, Prowl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fade out at the end - Tarantulas leaves uneventfully, basically.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is still out of commission; something ridiculous happens; predictably bad results ensue.

> _ To an anonymous asker, Tarantulas threatened to actually make a pear wiggler. _

Prowl

> «Why do you want to wiggle pears. What good does shaking a vegetable do.»

Tarantulas

> « _Fruits_. And I don’t care about actually wiggling pears - it’s a predictive damage assessment, a hypothetical. In  _this_  case, though, [bad and naughty children get put in The Pear Wiggler to atone for their crimes](http://memearchives.tumblr.com/post/126543641452/slumbermancer-fruitsoftheweb-damage). It’s quite simple, really.» 

Prowl

> «I’m not entirely sure about what human anatomy can stand, but I’m fairly certain that putting children in a box designed to shake fruit qualifies as cruel and unusual punishment.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s - Prowl, first of all, it oughtn’t be  _human_  children, and secondly, the proverbial Pear Wiggler isn’t even a tangible contraption in the first place! That is to say, I’m sure someone’s fabricated something along those lines in order to simulate the experience, but  _honestly_. That defeats the purpose of the meme entirely.» 

Prowl

> «Pears are an Earth fruit and therefore the inventors of the idea of putting children in pear wigglers were humans, which means either they were considering human children or else other children from Earth, most of which are far less physically robust than humans. What’s the purpose of the meme, if not to threaten an organic youth with violent shaking and potentially catastrophic physical injuries?»

Tarantulas

> «That doesn’t follow - just because pears are from Earth doesn’t mean the inventors of the meme were too. For all we know it could have been an implant from a knowledgeable alien species who thought contained gyrational physical abuse of minors was humorous.
> 
> « _Besides_. That’s _exactly_  the point. To threaten, but not actually inflict. It’s a gag - an over-the-top one, as it were, but still. Far worse things have been threatened under far less facetious circumstances.»

Prowl

> «Yes it does follow. How many intelligent species know about pears? Two. Humans and Cybertronians. How many of those species have reason to think about punishing children? One. Humans. No aliens but us have been known to make contact with Earth. The probability that some aliens have made intimate enough contact with human culture to start making memes about them, without their contact with humans being known either to humans or to the wider galactic community or to the only other alien race to have made intimate contact with them, and yet still being well known enough for their memes to have leaked out into the datanet without the origin being identified, is infinitesimally small. Hypothesizing that aliens did it instead of accepting the higher than 99% probability that humans made the meme is foolish. You probably simply proposed as a way to wrangle me into coming up with logical counterpoints to your absurd proposal, which I don’t appreciate because you know I can’t just ignore it because I have to voice my thoughts and now I’ve spent all this time explaining why that’s dumb when what I really wanted to do is say that’s ridiculous and not have this conversation at all.
> 
> «So it’s a joke. Why don’t you use a facetiousness tag? Please, Tarantulas. We’ve talked about this before. Please, please, please tell me when you’re saying facetious things. I don’t blame you for not doing it the first time because you didn’t know I was listening in, but when you found out you could have told me it was a joke. Why don’t you. Why do you wait until after we get into the conversation before you tell me? Why am I asking you. I already know the answer, it’s because you don’t actually want me to be able to tell the difference so you can get away with saying it’s whatever you want me to believe it is.»

Tarantulas

> «That is patently not - nn - _no_. I’m not - **no**.» …Don’t engage. Don’t do it.
> 
> «It’s - well - in this particular case I didn’t think to tag because this is a _datanet meme_ , but in general it’s honestly not a matter of deception at all, I swear - it’s mostly a matter of simply forgetting, or occasionally not even _knowing_  what it is I mean to say in the first place, come to think of it. Not to mention the fact that I wasn’t even really sure after a while whether you wanted me to use such a tag or not, although - I could _try_ , I suppose, but -
> 
> «…Prowl, I - I really don’t have time to speak at the moment, I - ought to go.»

Prowl

> «You’re lying to me. You know I really want you to use that tag. I have never been unclear, ambiguous, or soft in stating my position. You know because I’ve asked you to use a tag repeatedly; and because when I wrote you an essay about everything you’ve done wrong, I mentioned your abuse of claims of facetiousness four times. The fourth time was an entire paragraph about the fact that you’ve offered to identify your humor for me and then never followed through on it because you want to keep me confused and doubtful. I refuse to be confused and doubtful anymore.
> 
> «Here’s the ultimatum, Tarantulas: henceforth, if you ever use humor to me that I do not readily and easily identify as humor, and you do not immediately tell me yourself that that is what it is, I will from that point forth refuse to believe that it was humor. Because of your constant attempts to mislead me and distort my perceptions by retroactively pinning “facetiousness” on comments that you don’t want me to be mad at you for, and because of your constant hemming and hawing and pretending that you don’t understand my repeated and clearly stated desires, I will never give you the benefit of the doubt on matters of facetiousness again. You will either use a tag to identify your facetiousness, or you will not use facetiousness, and if you refuse to do either then my interpretation will default to the latter. And if you want to know why I am behaving unreasonably, you will understand that I am responding the best way I can to the unreasonable situation I’ve been placed in, and you will look at your own actions for the explanation.
> 
> «You’re lying to me, again. If you have time to threaten to stick aliens in fruit-shaking-simulations-turned-torture-devices, then you most certainly have time to talk to me. You’re using that as an excuse to get out of the conversation, because you don’t like it, because I’m angry at you and you know you can’t easily assuage my anger because it’s based on things you actually did to me and are still doing to me. Don’t lie to me and say you don’t have time to talk to me. Be honest and say you don’t want to talk to me. You promised you would try to stop lying and you’re still doing it.»

Tarantulas

> «I’m _not_  lying to you - that farcical anonymous commenter was taking me away from my work to begin with! While it may be true that I obviously  _don’t_  like this conversation, I - I still would speak with you anyway if I really had the resources. I’ll just - fine. Fine. Ultimatum accepted. I might as well just never use any sort of oblique humor ever again for that matter - and no, that’s _not_  sarcasm.»

Prowl

> «I don’t believe your claims. And you know why I don’t. It’s because of you.
> 
> «The ultimatum is in place whether you accept it or not. You never using oblique humor again would make my life a lot easier. On average, I’ll be more happy than sad to see it go.»

Tarantulas

> « ** _Stop_**. Stop. Just -»
> 
> Silence.
> 
> «Wonderful. Very well. I’ll - talk to you another time.»

Prowl

> «I can’t stop. You know that. My own optic is inside my head putting pressure on my brain module and I have no control over what I’m saying. Otherwise the ultimatum would have been a lot more compact.
> 
> «Fine. Take your time. I don’t think I’ll want to talk to you for a while.»

Tarantulas

> «Just because I know you can’t stop doesn’t mean I have to _enjoy_  all the positively glowing things you have to say about me, thank you very much. I know you’re not keen on this stream-of-consciousness situation, but I think it’s painfully obvious you’re not the only one who - in the sense that -» A brief bit of muffled swearing.
> 
> «…Please, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you’d be so kind as to direct your comms elsewhere. I’m sure Soundwave would be more than willing to assist.»
> 
> Click.

Prowl

> «I don’t expect you to enjoy it. I never said you did. I’m essentially just making noise over here. There’s no point in you telling me to stop because I’m not able to stop simply by being told to.
> 
> «Nor am I able to consciously choose to redirect my comms elsewhere. It kind of happens at rando—»
> 
> Although hanging up on Prowl certainly helps fix the problem.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl recovers a bit more; Springer is discussed; a wild snippet of backstory appears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between this chapter and the last, Prowl finally undergoes surgery. His optic's out of his brain case now, and he's just recovering. Also, there's a lot of backstory that's only lightly touched on here, but is fully fleshed out in blog headcanons elsewhere, so sorry if it doesn't quite make sense.

Tarantulas

> Ping. «…Prowl? Are you taking visitors right now?»

Prowl

> There’s a long silence.
> 
> «… Why?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas sighed off-comm before he answered. «Updates on - on  _Springer_.»

Prowl

> Well. At least he’d come prepared with a proper excuse. Maybe he’d have a real update too, but Prowl wasn’t getting his hopes  _that_  high just yet.
> 
> «And, these updates can’t be handled over comm…?»

Tarantulas

> «It’s easier to do in person. And, quite honestly - you can’t really fault me for wanting to reassure myself of your current well-being, can you?»

Prowl

> Prowl considered it. Then sighed. Whether or not it really  _was_  easier to do in person—no, Prowl couldn’t fault Tarantulas for wanting to check on him.
> 
> «Fine. I’ll comm Mixmaster to join us, in case there’s anything he can contribute to.»

Tarantulas

> Why, oh  _why_  did Prowl have to bring Mixmaster into this, or really, any of the Constructicons for that matter… Tarantulas knew the reason why, but still.
> 
> «So that’s a yes on visiting hours, then? If so, I can be over in a moment.»

Prowl

> «That’s a yes on visiting hours. And I actually  _have_  visiting hours now—so come in like a normal person. Signing in and all that.»

Tarantulas

> A small grumble. «Normal people are such a  _pain_. But, very well.» A ping to let Prowl know he was on his way.
> 
> Doing things the “right” way added time and awkwardness to the whole trip, but it still wasn’t long before he was slipping into Prowl’s hospital room anyway. He hovered for a moment before locating a proper seat and perching on the edge of it, optics and visor glancing over Prowl’s recovering frame.
> 
> Then, a simple: “…How are you doing?”

Prowl

> «Normal people make up most of the population of the galaxy. Sometimes you have to talk to one.»
> 
> And getting Tarantulas to do things the proper way will give Prowl time to get Mixmaster in the room. 
> 
> “Aside from the fact that one of my optics is scraped up and the other is still under a patch?” Prowl asked. “Fine. All the important damage has been repaired.”

Tarantulas

> For all intents and purposes Tarantulas was going to ignore Mixmaster - not that he held a grudge against him, but everything was about Prowl right now.
> 
> Still, Tarantulas fidgeted a bit where he sat, a bit uncomfortable with where they’d left things off the last few times they’d chatted. They were friends now at least, and Prowl was getting better, but it still seemed… tense. Ugh.
> 
> “That’s good to hear. Primus, you don’t know how much I -  _we_ \- were worried about all of this, about -” About all the things Prowl had said, the euthanasia bit in particular? On second thought, Tarantulas would rather not touch that.
> 
> “Nevermind - you’re far healthier now. How  _is_  your vision? Moderately functional at least?”

Prowl

> “I have a guess,” Prowl said dryly.
> 
> But no, he didn’t want to get into it either. He’d said many things he wished he hadn’t. “Functional enough. I have a small field of focused vision, but at least I have focused vision at all.”

Tarantulas

> It seemed they’d just have to let past conversations hang there between them until they got tugged into focus for one reason or another, then.
> 
> “Reasonable.” Tarantulas didn’t seem terribly happy about it though. “Enough for you to see a datapad fairly well? There’s nothing I have to share that strictly requires visuals, but I - thought I’d ask.”

Prowl

> “If I increase the font and hold it in the right place, yes. It’s not a pleasant experience, but it’s doable. And when it gets too frustrating, I can ask for assistance.” He tipped his head toward Mixmaster.
> 
> Mixmaster grumbled, “S’long as you’re not talkin’ over me when I try to read anymore.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t help but quirk his visor in a smile at that - probably good that Prowl couldn’t see, given that it was partially at his expense.
> 
> “Most likely you’ll only have to take a peek at diagrams, but it’s not mandatory. I’ll proceed and we’ll see how it goes.
> 
> “First of all, I’ve fine-tuned the zero point kit so that it  _can_  actually navigate around Os - Springer’s transformation cog. There’s virtually nowhere it can’t detect a zero point at this point - so that’s one difficulty down.
> 
> “Mixmaster and I -” A nod in the Constructicon’s direction. “- have narrowed the molecular structure of the ununtrium binding down to seven possibilities; likelihood of viability is 65, 72, 73, 79, 84, 84, and 85%, respectively, which neither singles out nor further pares down any of them. I’ve prepared the ununtrium required for testing, and it constitutes ~0.0003% of what we have - much less than I originally thought. I’ll be ready to proceed with testing in approximately four hours.
> 
> “In the meantime I’ve been working on solutions for avoiding spark shock. Theoretically if I were to supplement his spark with additional energies, that could cushion the feedback that would normally extinguish the spark, as well as feed it the power necessary to sustain any continuing stress of the ununtrium layer. I  _do_  have the technology to do that - it’s part of how I manage my mass shifting - but I feel that’s something I’d have to get the go-ahead from both you and Whirl in order to proceed with.”
> 
> Tarantulas paused a moment, referring to his mental checklist. “Hm, and as far as limb isolation - it’d be a simple enough thing to manage. I’ve found a few studies that used such equipment for different purposes. The only problem would be making it deterrent to the ununtrium so it doesn’t bind to the equipment, only to Springer’s helm and torso. Thankfully that really just means playing around with the successful binding samples, and I’ve already formulated hypotheses for experimentation.”

Prowl

> Prowl had started the conversation wary; but the more Tarantulas talked, the more Prowl relaxed, focusing on work instead. They were talking science. They were talking a project. This was good.
> 
> “Any way to do a test run of the zero point kit before testing it on Springer, to detect any bugs that might not be evident?” Not that he didn’t trust the quality of Tarantulas’s work, but he wasn’t letting  _anything_  untested into Springer’s system.
> 
> Mixmaster nodded back, puffing up slightly. That was right, he did damn good. Prowl’s optic flickered, “Four hours? Four hours from  _now_? You’re planning on getting back to work?” That was a surprise. He’d fully anticipated that Tarantulas would be incapable of getting anything substantive done while Prowl was injured. Of course, Prowl wasn’t as injured  _now_ , but… Well, Prowl supposed he’d been mistaken. It happened. “That little? Good. What will the test involve?”
> 
> Prowl thought over the suggestion. “So… spark augmentation?” That would indeed solve the problem— _if_  it actually worked. But that was a big “if.” The Autobots had attempted off and on to find ways to augment sparks during the war, to allow soldiers to wear heavier and heavier-armed bodies, to no real success.
> 
> But, well, Tarantulas wasn’t  _the Autobots_ , was he? Tarantulas was Tarantulas—and if he said he could do it…
> 
> “I want to see the process with which you plan on supplementing his spark—in detail. Give me something I can pass on to Hook to analyze.” Prowl braced himself for a miniature tantrum.
> 
> “What studies? I’ll read up on them when my sight improves. Is there going to be anything unusual I need to start pulling strings to acquire?”

Tarantulas

> “I’m not sure who you’d have me test the kit  _on_ , really - unless you can find me a living zero point patient aside from Springer, we’ll have to rely on my testing so far. I’ve physically simulated thirteen zero point situations and the detection process played out flawlessly. Ah, and that’s not to mention the subsequent successful resolution of said zero points, although admittedly since I engineered them in the first place it wasn’t really a challenge to repair them.”
> 
> Cute, how Mixmaster got all proud like that - but Tarantulas was distracted by the surprise in Prowl’s voice. “…Yyyyes? I mean, the ununtrium layer is probably the most work-intensive part of this process, and it’s not going to experiment on itself, now is it?” Prowl’s assumption had been logical, but it’d actually been nice for Tarantulas to have something to keep his mind off things (at least once he’d assured himself Prowl was stable).
> 
> “Moving forward is the fun part,” Tarantulas went on, a little more animated now. “We get to see how the ununtrium actually interacts with protoform. First the initial microsamples - ununtrium + protoform + one of seven solvents based on the hypothetical bonding structures. Then depending on success therein, we move to larger knife-shaped samples. Tiny melee weapons are so  _odd_ , but - I decided on a balanced throwing knife that triples as a conventional handheld and a dagger. How many we end up with depends on what  _sticks_ , so to speak. But yes, hyeh - I’ll repeat, tweak, and replicate as necessary until we’re satisfied the process is fit to employ on Springer’s frame.”
> 
> Prowl was right; Tarantulas’ visor lost its glimmer as soon as he heard he’d have to hand his spark augmentation specs over to Hook. There was a flurry of muttering, a headshake, a roll of his fuzzy shoulders - but apparently once he decided to look back at Prowl, he’d accepted his fate. “…How  _much_  detail? I’ll - hmn. How about I just pull something together and you can request elaboration if you so desire.” Tarantulas was just going to have to play up the Springer-specific aspects and downplay the rest; that way he’d be able to keep  _some_  of his secrets.
> 
> “I’ll send you the studies along with the augmentation files, then. Unusual needs… Well, we’ll have to find a - what was the word? - the - something to put Springer in during? But I don’t know the requirements for it yet. And the equipment for the limb isolation, but you’ll see what we need once you get the readings. Other than that, I can’t think of…” Tarantulas drifted off.

Prowl

> “We  _are_  in a hospital. There might be one in here. If there is—what’s the worst possible outcome if you test it on someone and it fails?”
> 
> A snort. “No. Of course it isn’t.” Well, then. Good on Tarantulas for being productive.
> 
> Prowl nodded as he listened. “Would we have reason to make more than one knife? We want to save as much as possible for Springer, after all. Do you think there’s a chance we’re going to have a surplus, since we’re only covering his torso and head?”
> 
> He only sulked for a moment. Very mature of him. “You’ll have to ask Hook how much he thinks is sufficient. Generally speaking, though, I think he’ll need at least enough to understand how it will affect Springer, but not necessarily all the details about how the effect is achieved.”
> 
> The something to put Springer in during? “… Container?” He chanced a quick glance at Tarantulas’s face as Tarantulas trailed off (which wasn’t really as quick or as subtle as Prowl would have liked, what with his fragmented peripheral vision), then looked back down at his lap.

Tarantulas

> A tilt of Tarantulas’ helm. “I highly doubt it. Zero points aren’t exactly a common occurrence, and without as many injuries and such from ongoing wartime conditions the likelihood of finding one is even smaller than before. I can check before I leave, but… as I said, I doubt I’ll find anything.
> 
> “As far as worst possible outcome? Even if the kit malfunctions it won’t affect the patient, only the kit, so failure would simply mean having to repair or rebuild.”
> 
> Tarantulas watched as Prowl nodded - generally while he was speaking his gaze wandered the room, unable to settle while he thought things out, but anything to do with Prowl always caught his attention. “Oh, well aside from tactical reasons, having more than one type of binding on a single knife would at best form breakable seams, and at worst, interact poorly, in which case I don’t even know what would happen. Suffice to say the knife wouldn’t be usable. That’s why I’ll narrow things down with smaller samples first and save the knives for more viable interactions - that is, to macro-test, which is key. Don’t fret though, likely we  _will_  have excess ununtrium, although it’d be negligible in terms of application to his frame. If anything, I’d recommend using the excess to add thickness to the base layer.”
> 
> There was still a bit of narrow-visored distaste evident on Tarantulas’ face, although it faded when he noticed Prowl was -  _oh_. Prowl was actually looking at him. “Very well. Yes - well then. Spark augmentation summary, limb isolation readings. And if I think of a -
> 
> “ _Chamber_. A chamber, that’s the word.” Tarantulas looked very pleased with himself. “With variable pressure and temperature at the very least. And now that I think of it, I wouldn’t have to… I’d just have to coat Springer’s frame in… it could be… a gel? I’ll have to think on that, because that could change the method of selective ununtrium application.”

Prowl

> “No, probably not. But you can check.” Couldn’t hurt. “Then, if you do find someone with a zero point, test the kit on them. If you can’t find someone, no  _causing_  zero points.”
> 
> Because this was Tarantulas. And Prowl couldn’t assume that he’d take that as a given.
> 
> “So multiple knives would be to test different formulas? Very well.” An uncertain pause; and then he asked, “Would adding to the base layer make any difference…? Ununtrium is nearly impenetrable. What’s the benefit of making a thicker layer if the thinner one gets the same benefits?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas put an offended claw to his chest. “Why would anyone do  _that_? Besides, I’m already personally assured of its efficacy, I wouldn’t go to such lengths to prove something I’m already sure of.
> 
> “And I - I’m not actually sure. Maybe if there are problem areas it’d be best served for focusing on those. Are you thinking of something  _else_ you’d want to use the ununtrium for?”

Prowl

> Prowl gave Tarantulas a very pointed, very unconvinced look. Maybe Tarantulas was convinced of its efficacy, but Prowl didn’t believe for a second he wouldn’t consider causing a zero point if he thought Prowl wanted a test.
> 
> “If we’ve already covered his head and torso with a layer that provides all the benefits of an ununtrium coating, and if thickening the layer would do nothing to improve its strength, then the remaining ununtrium should be used to cover something we wouldn’t be able to otherwise. Like—his rotor blades, maybe. It would make it harder for him to be shot down in flight, and he also uses them as swords.”

Tarantulas

> The pointed look didn’t really faze Tarantulas - he’d done his part in pretending to be scientifically ethical, and if Prowl didn’t buy it - well. He’d done his best.
> 
> “Oh - I doubt we’d have enough ununtrium for all the rotor blades, and only covering them partially doesn’t seem useful, it’d only create breakage points. I suppose… saving it in case of some unforeseen emergency would be a smart option, if nothing else.”

Prowl

> As long as he kept up the act when Prowl wasn’t watching.
> 
> Prowl considered it, then slowly nodded. “If we can find a practical way to use it on Springer, we should; but if not, then yes. Saving it would be best.”

Tarantulas

> “I could take a look at Springer’s form and draw the exact lines where we ought to cut off coverage - there might be areas around the edges that are optional but recommended. We could discuss that another time, then?”
> 
> For a moment Tarantulas was tempted to flop forward onto Prowl’s lap - it probably showed, with the way he stopped fidgeting and glanced over. But Mixmaster, and… well… Hm. Tarantulas put on a bit of a hopeful pout.
> 
> “…Physical contact isn’t off-limits right now, is it?”

Prowl

> “Yes, all right. Once you’ve looked over him.”
> 
> Prowl hesitated, for longer than he should have. He looked at Mixmaster. Mixmaster gave him a Look. Prowl looked back at Tarantulas and hesitated a little longer.
> 
> “… All right.”
> 
> Mixmaster gave Prowl a new Look.

Tarantulas

> Every second of Looking had Tarantulas on pins and needles - at least if Prowl had said no outright Tarantulas wouldn’t have had to wait for the guillotine to fall or not. Thankfully it  _didn’t_  though, and he could relax - quite literally of course, inching his chair forward and half-lying on Prowl’s lap just like he’d wanted. Initially it was tentative and awkward, just like the attempt at casual conversation that followed.
> 
> “…Now that you know the majority of what I’ve been up to lately, I’m curious - what does one even  _do_  while convalescing? Or rather, what have you in particularbeen up to? Because I have a hunch it’s dissimilar to that of most patients in this hospital, hyeh.”

Prowl

> Ignoring Mixmaster’s grumbling, Prowl shifted on his berth so he could tug Tarantulas more fully on top of himself, pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around whatever he could tug into hugging range. Tentative and awkward it may have been, but Prowl had spent most of his life having tentative and awkward relationships, and that didn’t stop him from wanting more.
> 
> “Honestly? Very little,” Prowl lamented. “Between the pressure on my brain module and the processor fan that was damaged, it’s been too dangerous for me to have  _stimulating conversations,_  much less do any real work. I’ve been watching movies, reading novels, and sleeping. Mainly sleeping.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a pleased hum when Prowl pulled him in. With his spider legs tilted down and out of the way, Prowl had access to most of Tarantulas’ back and shoulders, as well as the arms he had folded under his helm.
> 
> Tarantulas tilted his head sideways to give Prowl a heavy squint. “ _Stimulating conversations_? That sounds moderately miserable though. You’re not allowed to get up and move around much either?”

Prowl

> “Stimulating conversations,” Prowl agreed, returning the squint with a look that meant “???” but actually looked like “:|”. What’s the squint for? Did he say something weird?
> 
> “I am now; but where would I go? There’s not much to do in a hospital.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s “:|” face was met by a “::::|” equivalent from Tarantulas. Well, if Prowl wasn’t going to elaborate, Tarantulas wasn’t going to press, he supposed.
> 
> He proceeded to lay his helm down and give a shrug in Prowl’s lap. “Anything is better than nothing, but then again we’ve already expressed our differences in mobility preferences. It’s just - this whole situation is completely foreign to me. I haven’t been in a hospital in… millennia, at least.”

Prowl

> He’d elaborate if he had the slightest idea Tarantulas wanted him to elaborate.
> 
> “No, I suppose you wouldn’t have been.” Are Tarantulas’s spider legs safe to touch right now? A test brush to find out. “Did you—you were originally in the medical field, weren’t you? Did you ever get as far as working in a hospital, or did you switch fields before then?”

Tarantulas

> Apparently the spider legs were fine - all Prowl got in response was a small twitch and lift into his hand. Tarantulas couldn’t move them much otherwise though, with the odd angle they were at at the moment.
> 
> “Yyyyes, I was.” So, that much overlapped in their timelines, at least. “I wasn’t destined for hospital work though - my alt had me going down the EMT route. Though, I did end up working as a lab tech at one point, and did some rounds when I… I think…” A bemused hum. “In any case, I never was a proper hospital medic, no.”

Prowl

> Good. Now Prowl has two hands on Tarantulas’s spider legs. (Mixmaster shuddered slightly. How can Prowl touch them. How.)
> 
> “An EMT? Were you originally outfitted with sirens?” That was, after all, why Prowl had been put in an emergency response field—his light bar. But some people were recruited first, given the sirens later.
> 
> Why the sudden trail off? Prowl decided he probably shouldn’t ask. “Hm.” No further questions, then.

Tarantulas

> So long as Prowl didn’t mess with the rotating joint where the legs were all connected with Tarantulas’ back, he’d be good to go. Even then, Tarantulas might get comfortable enough to allow him that, too.
> 
> “Hyeh, no, and they never saw fit to give me any either - something about being non-transport and not needing them to navigate. Besides, I wasn’t in the field long. It - didn’t suit me.” To say the least.
> 
> It turns out Prowl didn’t need to ask - Tarantulas went on by himself. “I suppose it wasn’t an  _awful_  experience to have had, though. It helped me get out of practicals and rounds later down the line, which would have been far more intensive hospital work.”

Prowl

> “You probably could have benefited from the experience, though. Considering your later work with frame modification. Not that you didn’t figure it out yourself anyway, but you could have learned it earlier with more medical experience.”
> 
> Prowl’s hands slowed, knitting into Tarantulas’s fur and resting there. “How did—you switch functions?” Prowl knew nothing about how the process worked; before the war, he hadn’t even personally known anyone who had done it. He’d heard about mechs who had done it, yes, but for all he knew the process itself was black magic—cast a spell when Luna Two is full and the next time you sleep you’ll wake up in a new dormitory with a new job where everyone already knows who you are and how you fit in.

Tarantulas

> “Oh, I had plenty of experience with procedures - I’d started self-modding by then anyhow. It was all the actual talking and treating people nonsense I got a free pass on. Not that it’s not a noble pursuit, but being a medic involves  _far_  too much chatter, and - well. All that. You know what I mean.” Tarantulas dismissed the thought with a small wave of his claw.
> 
> There was a brief laugh at Prowl’s following question. “Which time? That is to say, I suppose it’s more accurate to call it ‘multiple job reassignments that  _painfully_  slowly led to an alt-mode exemption’.”

Prowl

> Prowl was about to say something about that  _“nonsense”_  comment when Tarantulas backtracked on it himself.
> 
> And he understood the objection to chatter. He wasn’t very good at it either.
> 
> Tarantulas had switched jobs more than once?  _Before_  getting alt-mode exemption? “The first time. I didn’t know there were multiple.”

Tarantulas

> “Oh? Yes, I had three positions before I earned the exemption. The first time, that was when I was assigned as an EMT.” Tarantulas shifted a bit in Prowl’s lap, apparently mildly uncomfortable. “I didn’t quite have the  _proper disposition_  for the job, or at least that’s what they said. Didn’t follow protocol. Was too prone to panic. Didn’t work well with others. Navigation troubles, etc. etc. I apparently garnered enough complaints and reprimands that the higher-ups saw fit to reassign me within the field.”

Prowl

> “Ah. Reassignment in the same field. I suppose I had several of those, too.” For some of the same reasons.  _Didn’t work well with others._  “I never counted those as  _real_  job changes, though. My form still fit my function.” … Mostly. Mechaforensics stretched the definition.
> 
> “What were you after an EMT?”

Tarantulas

> “See, that’s where it gets a bit iffy. EMT, especially as a first responder, makes sense for a motorcycle alt, but then I was switched to  _hospital lab tech_. They justified it by citing a bunch of measurements and some scrap about hastening the delivery of test results - as if I could speed around a hospital, hyeh. No, likely they just wanted to keep a better optic on me, who knows.
> 
> “Eventually they pulled a lateral transfer on me and had me moved to _pharmacology_  - I still don’t know exactly how or why, but I have my suspicions. In any case though, that’s where I got my foot in the door for an alt mode exemption - and thank  _Primus_  for that.”

Prowl

> “Pff. Sometimes Functionalist justifications for assignments get a little stretched.” Some people would argue more than sometimes. Prowl knew he was overly inclined to be charitable to Functionalism. “How did that process happen? How does it work? I’ve heard there’s paperwork and tests and visits to a Functionalist office involved, but I never looked into it for myself, so…”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was one of those persons who’d argue more than sometimes, but he left it at a hum of agreement. Just keep your hands in his fur, Prowl, and he’ll stay more-than-docile.
> 
> “I don’t remember the precise details anymore, but for me it started out as a submission of a request from a visiting supervisor. They’d hardly allow just anyone to fill out paperwork for an exemption. Then a slew of red tape, and interviews, and intelligence tests, and… well, eventually there was the dissertation, but that hardly counted. A joke, really. That said though, it all depended on which area you were applying for an exemption for, so my narrative isn’t necessarily indicative of the norm. As far as I remember hearing, it took me longer than most to wade through the bureaucratic mess, though I’ve no idea why.” …He knew why.

Prowl

> They’re not going anywhere else.
> 
> Prowl had a guess why. “… Was that after we met?” And in case the answer was unpleasant, moving on: “What was your dissertation about? I might have read it if you published it later.” And if it was consistent across universes.

Tarantulas

> A pause, then Tarantulas glanced up at Prowl with a wry visor smile. “We’ve only recently met, Prowl, of  _course_  not.” Shaking his head slightly, he laid it back down on Prowl’s lap. “No, I - well, I’m unsure of how things progressed in this universe so I can’t say for you, but in my own - I met your alternate before qualifying for exemption.”
> 
> Forgetting about the dissertation question, Tarantulas added: “I’m curious - how  _did_  you and Mesothulas meet?”

Prowl

> “ _Pff._  I’m sorry. You’re right. Before you met my alternate, then.”
> 
> Prowl hesitated, considering how best to phrase himself; and then said, carefully, “He and several other mechs were apprehended… escaping from a hospital. And taken to my police station.”

Tarantulas

> “It’s an important distinction,” Tarantulas hummed, head turning sideways again. Ever restless, it seemed.
> 
> “…Hyeh, yes. That sounds about right.” His statement was carefully worded as well, and not necessarily an admission of congruity. It was  _possible_ Prowl meant Mesothulas had escaped from a regular hospital, not specifically a psychiatric ward - but then again, their universes had aligned incredibly well so far, so... “How did he escape, do you know?”

Prowl

> Ever restless indeed. Prowl patted Tarantulas’s head. “He created a smoke bomb out of hospital medications and supplies in the janitor’s closet, hotwired the elevator to escape, and then used a comm unit he’d stolen to hack into the tracking bracelets of all the escapees and disable them. It was a hell of a crime scene. The hospital staff was talking about a terrorist attack and abductions before I started investigating the scene.” He permitted himself another, more affectionate pat on Tarantulas’s head. “Was it similar in your universe?”

Tarantulas

> “…Was it  _just_  a smoke bomb?” Huh. Well, if it was, Tarantulas felt oddly superior to his alternate. “It was - similar, yes. I’d rigged mine as a gas bomb as well with a few of the pain medications as neuro-incapacitating agents. It didn’t end up being terribly effective, but we  _did_  get out, which is what matters, really.
> 
> “…Well, sort of. Since we ended up - hyeh. But of course you know the story.”

Prowl

> “No, not just a smoke bomb—although it’s been a long time, I don’t remember the specifics. There were some sort of drugs mixed in, but the main result was the whole smokescreen effect.”
> 
> Prowl nodded. “You  _did_  get out,” he agreed. “Which was impressive, given how close the bomb was set off to a ventilation duct. You must have had a lot less time to hotwire the elevator than expected.” No, he didn’t remember the exact chemical composition of the bomb, but of course he remembered that it had been near a ventilation duct.

Tarantulas

> “Yes, of course, since that was the main intent.” Well - for Tarantulas. He shouldn’t assume for his alternate. Strange, how the lines were wont to blur in his head sometimes. (How different  _were_  they, anyhow?)
> 
> An amused huff. “Yes, but it worked out perfectly well... I take it the rest of the situation played out similarly for our universes as well? Arrest and hospital transfer and so on?”

Prowl

> Prowl wondered all the time.
> 
> He nodded. “Arrest yes, hospital transfer yes. It sounds similar enough.”

Tarantulas

> Hhm. Tarantulas wondered if there was anything else he should ask Prowl about Mesothulas - probably a million things, but… No, this probably wasn’t the best of times, and it wasn’t the most pleasant of topics to discuss. Every once in a while Tarantulas’ old visage flickered in his mind, and the eerie uncertainty of whether it was  _him_ looking at himself, or Prowl’s Mesothulas the last time he’d - 
> 
> A sudden clicking of his mandibles to banish that train of thought. Prowl was here, probably wondering where Tarantulas’ mind had gone.
> 
> An absentminded voice wandered up from Prowl’s lap. “How did we even arrive at this topic in the first place? Hyeh.”

Prowl

> A beat, as Prowl tried to trace the conversational thread back to its source. “I was asking how you switched functions.” Which he’d done because Tarantulas had mentioned he hadn’t been in a hospital in a long time. Somehow the conversation had looped back around to hospitals, hadn’t it?

Tarantulas

> “Ah - functions, yes.” A small hum, while Tarantulas tried to conjure up anything else he might have to say on the matter. He didn’t come up with much. “…I suppose one could say I managed to make the system work for me.” 
> 
> Ugh, Tarantulas didn’t really want to go, but the conversation so far had left him feeling antsier than he’d anticipated. Work was waiting for him in a few hours, so he might as well go set up, but… 
> 
> Well, he’d just see what Prowl would do in response when Tarantulas reluctantly sat up, arched his back, and stretched out with too many arms.

Prowl

> “I suppose.” Prowl had been asking because he already knew that, he wanted to know  _how_  Tarantulas had made the system work. But they’d already touched on some uncomfortable topics. Maybe the short summary meant that was as deep into it as Tarantulas wanted to go. He hadn’t even answered Prowl’s question about the subject of his dissertation.
> 
> Prowl’s reaction was as ambiguous as Tarantulas’s gesture. He didn’t know if Tarantulas was stretching to stretch or stretching as an overture to leaving, so he simply dropped his hands from Tarantulas’s spider legs to his robot legs, lacing his fingers in his fur again, and waited to see if Tarantulas settled back down or prepared to leave.

Tarantulas

> Oh Prowl, do you really think Tarantulas even remembered that you asked about his dissertation anymore? Consider the topic lost unless you purposefully bring it up again.
> 
> Likely Prowl wouldn’t have the time to do so, though. The virtual lack of response from Prowl was disheartening to Tarantulas, and essentially made up his mind for him.
> 
> “I’m afraid I may have to abandon you shortly,” Tarantulas sighed. Another brief stretch before settling back into form. “Four hours passes much more quickly than I often anticipate.”

Prowl

> Well, if Prowl had  _known_  that Tarantulas was looking for a reaction…
> 
> “Oh?” His fingers tightened in Tarantulas’s fur. “… I suppose something will explode if you don’t go, won’t it.” And then let go. But not eagerly.

Tarantulas

> What did those fingers in his fur  _mean_? Was it a belated request to stay? Primus, Tarantulas never knew what to think.
> 
> Too late, he’d already made up his mind. Once Prowl let go, Tarantulas got up, a paw brushing over Prowl’s shoulder. “No, hyeh, not  _this_  time. I simply have to prepare for the next round of experiments. I’d like to be ready to go when the ununtrium is done re-stabilizing.”

Prowl

> He almost reached up to put a hand on Tarantulas’s paw—but not quite. “Fair enough.” Springer. Springer was more important than sitting here talking. “I’ll see you la—”
> 
> “ _Bye,_ ” Mixmaster said loudly.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas nearly hissed at Mixmaster for the interruption, visor narrowing sharply in his direction. “You know, I was  _almost_  starting to not completely detest you.” Turning back to Prowl, Tarantulas let his paw hover over his shoulder, then pulled back. “I’ll keep you updated. …Until then.”
> 
> And with that, reluctantly, he was on his way.

Prowl

> Mixmaster puffed up aggressively.
> 
> Dryly, Prowl said, “You’re being far too generous to him.”
> 
> … And Mixmaster immediately deflated.
> 
> “Until then.” Prowl tried not to watch as Tarantulas left.


	41. Chill's Gun and Chill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If we went with the old theme, this'd be "Prowl makes a Huge Mistake™ 3.0," except this time isn't really a mistake at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely rated **Mature**. So's the next one, because for the sake of readability we cut the thread into two halves.
> 
> At a movie night, Tarantulas makes a deal with Windchill - if 'Chill gives him the schematics for his rare nucleon charge rifle, Tarantulas will recreate it for him. Prowl invites Tarantulas over afterward to "discuss" the schematics.
> 
> Also, Prowl's interface array can be viewed [here](https://68.media.tumblr.com/3654e747c3a598054691342c4f39503c/tumblr_oqxxwfUwLq1vb4l1ko1_1280.jpg), and Tarantulas's [here](http://78.media.tumblr.com/fc32ab80776a2e7ac8529ecf33eac07b/tumblr_inline_oxxpobLjtV1urujbv_500.jpg).

Prowl

> When Prowl’s avatar flickered off and optics snapped on after movie night, the first thing he did was rush to the edge of the mezzanine and shout down at the Constructicons, “ _None of you_  are allowed in the berth room for the rest of the night.”
> 
> The Constructicons looked up from the speaker they’d been disassembling. “How come?” “We don’t go in there anyhow.”
> 
> “Don’t start now,” Prowl said. “Tarantulas is coming over.”
> 
> A chill settled over the group. “ _Is_  he.”
> 
> “Yes.” Prowl was already heading down the steps, so fast it was less a walk and more a controlled stumble. “I don’t know when. Soon. You’ll all probably be at work by then. Who’s turn is it to stay here?”
> 
> While Prowl was banned from work to recover, one Constructicon stayed with him at all times, in case something went wrong. Scavenger raised a hand.
> 
> A disappointed grumble. “Fine. You can—you  _should_  stay—I’d appreciate it if you stayed just outside the berthroom. In case.”
> 
> “In case what—?” Scavenger was elbowed by Hook. “What??” Hook gave him a look. Scavenger stared back blankly. “… Oh.  _Oh._  But, Prowl, he's—”
> 
> “You can try to talk me out of interfacing with him after I’ve showered.” He disappeared into the chemistry lab/medibay/washracks. He didn’t know how long he had until Tarantulas arrived, after all. He didn’t have time to talk until he was ready for him.
> 
> A couple minutes after the shower had started, Prowl heard the door slide open. “Who is it?” With the room divider pulled out to keep Hook’s medibay equipment from getting wet, Prowl couldn’t see who’d come in.
> 
> The room divider slid half open, and Mixmaster stepped in. “Hey.”
> 
> Prowl sighed irritably. “If you’re going to tell me not to—”
> 
> “Nah. We’re not. We know it ain’t gonna work. Jus’ wanted to give you this.”
> 
> He held out two flasks—one holding a thick, syrupy yellow liquid, the other one holding something bubbly and Autobot red.
> 
> Prowl eyed them skeptically. Then hesitantly reached out for them. “What are they?” Somehow he doubted Mixmaster was offering him and Tarantulas a couple of nice mixed drinks. That would look too much like approval.
> 
> “It’s an acid. Or will be once you drink both reagents,” Mixmaster said. “I’ve been experimentin’ on Tarantulas’s web. Wanted to make somethin’ that could eat through it without eatin’ through any of your acid-resistant plating.”
> 
> And most of Prowl’s internals were acid-resistant. From his throat, to his acid tank, to his ammo generators, to the various hidden ports around his body designed to secrete acid, to the plating around those ports where it was most likely to leak.
> 
> Meaning if Tarantulas went too far—if Tarantulas had Prowl bound up, and Prowl started saying “stop” and Tarantulas said “no"—now, Prowl could get out. He could just melt through the web.
> 
> So. This was the end result of the sample of web Mixmaster had been so eager to get his hands on. How long had Mixmaster been working on this? Just to give Prowl a way to protect himself?
> 
> Part of him tried to say  _thank you._  Instead he said, "What order should I drink them in?”
> 
> “Doesn’t really matter. I suggest red first, though. It’ll slide down faster.
> 
> Prowl nodded, stepped out of the shower’s stream, emptied the current contents of his acid tank into a batch of waiting acid pellets, flipped his throat pipe from his fuel tank to his acid tank, opened the red flask, and drained it down. Then the yellow flask, chugging it more slowly; it was almost thick enough to make him gag. The yellow reagent oozed over a few drops of red left in his throat, mixing and stinging the lining. Prowl coughed, bending over and covering his mouth.
> 
> "No good?” Mixmaster asked. Still coughing, Prowl shook his head weakly. “Meh. Yellow first next time.” He patted Prowl’s back.
> 
> As Prowl recovered, he reached up to grab Mixmaster’s arm. This time, he was going to thank him properly. “Mixmaster… I—”
> 
> “I know,” Mixmaster said. “Just… don’t do nothin’ dumb. Okay? We need you.”
> 
> Well. Prowl supposed that was good enough.
> 
> Mixmaster let go, and left the shower. “Clean off again when he’s gone, okay? Don’t wanna come home an’ see you covered in fur.”
> 
> “…All right.” He supposed he could do that much for them.
> 
> By the time he exited the shower, the Constructicons had left for work. Scavenger was upstairs, sitting outside the berth room, visibly nervous even to Prowl. Prowl gave him his busted lava lamp-like paperweight and a datapad with Pipes’s instruction guide on how to repair it, to give Scavenger something to think about other than his boss banging a bug.
> 
> And then he waited.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had departed from the movie night in a sort of haze, not only distracted by the rifle schematics, but also worn down by the exertion of extended social interaction. Some of the haze lifted when he was alone and had cast the files from his head and onto his console, but still - he needed recharge.
> 
> He’d been noncommittal in telling Prowl when he’d come over mostly because he honestly had no idea how long recharge would take; sometimes he woke refreshed after a fifteen-minute cat nap, and other times he got dragged down into a six-hour snooze. This instance was on the shorter end of the spectrum, clocking in at just shy of forty-five minutes - not long, but still plenty of time for Prowl to neaten up for Tarantulas’ visit.
> 
> Tarantulas, on the other hand, had no such prepping plans. Two and two hadn’t yet clicked together in his mind - why should he prepare for anything in particular, other than a surely engaging and enjoyable chat? All he had to do was take a better look at the schematics and head on over.
> 
> Thankfully he realized what was going on - or  _would_  be going on - before he finished perusing the files. It was a lovely smack in the face, really.
> 
> _With some safety measures in place … we could interface soon._
> 
> Prowl had really, actually said that earlier, hadn’t he? And now he had the opportunity to discuss _intellectually stimulating_ material in a  _private_ environment - this was basically being handed to him on a golden platter. As far as Tarantulas was concerned, that “ _soon_ ” was rapidly approaching “ _now_.” 
> 
> Any lingering sleepiness from his nap vanished completely as he threw himself into skimming the files one last time. Oh! But he’d said he’d give Prowl notice before he came over, hadn’t he. Better do that first.
> 
> A greeting ping, then a comm. «Prowl? I’m sure you’ll be  _delighted_ to hear a window’s just opened up in my nonexistent schedule. Would you mind if I invited myself over shortly?»
> 
> Good, good. This gave Tarantulas a little more time to make sure he wasn’t missing anything important in the specs. It’d be so embarrassing if he screwed up trivialities or missed something big - what a mood-killer  _that_  would be.

Prowl

> At last. Those forty-five minutes lasted a week.
> 
> All the same, Prowl felt like he could use another week to steel his nerves.
> 
> «Whenever you’re ready to come over. I’ll just be preparing.» And by “preparing” he meant “trying to decide whether he could skip waiting at his desk or if it would be too forward to start out on a berth.” «Give me a minute’s notice before you come over. I’ll be in the berth room waiting.» Should he have left off the word “waiting”? Was  _that_  too forward? Was there such a thing as “too forward” when he was basically inviting Tarantulas over for sex? What if Tarantulas didn’t know he was inviting him over for sex.
> 
> Focus, Prowl. «Whenever you’re ready.» … Had he said that already? He had. Dammit.

Tarantulas

> Was that the tiniest hint of awkwardness or trepidation in Prowl’s voice…? Speculating about it probably wouldn’t do Tarantulas any good, so he settled on a light hum and went on.
> 
> «I’m nearly ready now, as a matter of fact - you might as well consider this your minute’s notice.» Although on second thought, maybe he should have made Prowl wait a little longer just to draw things out… Ah well.
> 
> Neatly he tucked the files away in a drive and swept both it and a holo cube into his subspace, all before heading over to his portal generator. Then he took a deep breath… and entered the pre-programmed coordinates for Prowl’s apartment.

Prowl

> One minute! Right! Okay! Uh… Desk! He could always move forward from the desk to a berth but he couldn’t really move back from a berth to the desk. Besides: foreplay. Yes.
> 
> «Very well. I’ll be here.» Duh. Stupid. Where else would he be?
> 
> He scrambled to get his usual datapads out of the way, stacking them quickly but semi-neatly on the edge of the desk, and sat down and laced his hands over the desk  _just_  in time to look like he’d been calmly waiting there all along. (… Unless Tarantulas arrived a little bit  _less_  than exactly 60 seconds after he said he’d be there in a minute, in which case he’d catch the tail end of Prowl’s scramble.)

Tarantulas

> «Hyeheh - I look forward to seeing you, then.» 
> 
> Prowl had nothing to worry about on timing - Tarantulas, true to character, somehow arrived 60 seconds  _after_  he said he’d be there. Deftly the little spider descended from the ceiling vent across the room, and upon touchdown, a full-size mech took the place of said spider. Tarantulas didn’t miss a beat, using the momentum from his transformation to step forward toward Prowl’s spot at the desk.
> 
> A quirked smile of his visor. “How  _lovely_ to see you all patched up and out of the hospital. Avatar didn’t count, of course - in the metal is much more preferable.”

Prowl

> … Right. Where was Tarantulas supposed to sit? Under the circumstances, it would be too distant for him to sit on the  _other_  side of the desk from Prowl. But that was where Prowl’s two makeshift seats were, on opposite sides of the desk.
> 
> He stood up. Problem solved. They could both stand on the same side of the desk. Which made sense, they could both look at the blueprints right-side-up that way.
> 
> “It’s even better to  _be_  out of the hospital. It means I’m back in one piece.” There was still some minor damage—his optics looked slightly uneven, the area around his right optic riddled with weld marks and stripped paint. But otherwise, he was fully repaired. And his processor could certainly handle complex conversations again.
> 
> He shuffled over a step, giving Tarantulas room to stand next to him on the same side of the desk. Since his “desk”  _was_  still just a reappropriated berth, they’d have to bend down a bit to use it effectively—but that was hardly the worst inconvenience imaginable.

Tarantulas

> “Technically speaking, I don’t recall that you were ever in more than one piece…? Regardless, you’re back now, which is what truly matters.” 
> 
> Tarantulas was confused at first as to where to go, but if Prowl was standing, that was good enough for him to do as well. But, how to start things off? He shouldn’t stand  _too_  close to Prowl, he didn’t want to  _loom_ , but being distant would give off the wrong vibes…
> 
> Or he could take option three and sit in the chair Prowl had just vacated. Yes, the obvious course of action, and hopefully one that wouldn’t backfire on him. A beckoning gesture made it clear Tarantulas intended Prowl to sit on his lap.
> 
> “Come now, take a seat. You  _are_  still recovering, we can’t have you wasting energy standing while we’re talking, can we?”

Prowl

> “I had a fan and an optic dislodged. They were still  _inside_  me, but I count that as being in pieces.”
> 
> Oh. Well. That wasn’t quite what Prowl had in mind, but… well.  _Well_. For a split second, he stared blankly at the offered seat.
> 
> And then said—oh so very coolly and casually—“No, of course we can’t have that. It would be eminently impractical.”
> 
> His doors wouldn’t make this easy—normally he could just tilt them down, no problem, but the second lower set of doors from his latest Earth alt mode complicated that. It took him a second to figure out a way to tilt his lower doors back and adjust his upper doors to hang as low as possible. Then he slid onto Tarantulas’s lap—sitting on only one thigh, lightly squeezing his knees around Tarantulas’s.
> 
> Tarantulas had been here under a minute and had already invited Prowl to sit on his lap; clearly they weren’t going the subtle route.

Tarantulas

> “I  _suppose_  so…”
> 
> Tarantulas hadn’t entirely thought through the anatomical complications of the lap-sitting, but they got it figured out eventually. It did help that his chest, unlike Prowl’s, was only large in two dimensions instead of three.
> 
> Now with Prowl on one thigh (that totally couldn’t have been an accident in positioning, no, not with that knee-squeeze), Tarantulas settled in around him, carefully moving the chair forward toward the desk. His arms were proportionally long enough to encircle Prowl and then some, giving him full access to whatever he needed to do on the desk. As Tarantulas laid a paw just above Prowl’s knee (to be safe), he couldn’t help but marvel - this was… _wow_. One hell of a way to start a meeting, to be sure.
> 
> “Much better,” Tarantulas purred, his vocalizer now conveniently located near Prowl’s audial. “You’re comfortable, I hope? Let me know at any time if your doorwings start causing you problems. I have the feeling we might be here for a little while.”

Prowl

> Prowl laid one hand on the paw settled above his knee, and the other on Tarantulas’s other thigh—in both cases lacing his fingers into the fur, but going no farther. If he started actually playing with Tarantulas’s fur, that would be the only thing he would be able to focus on, and that was  _not_  what he was here for today.
> 
> “Doors,” Prowl corrected. He leaned back on Tarantulas, light bar pressed into his chest. “ _Perfectly_  comfortable.”  _For a little while._  Not for too long, Prowl hoped.

Tarantulas

> “Ah -  _doors_ ,” Tarantulas repeated. Not a difficult alteration to make; he’d keep it in mind. “I’m glad - shall we begin, then? Not that I’m in any hurry, but I don’t see any reason to idle overmuch, hm?”
> 
> Mostly ignoring the hands in his fur so he could focus, Tarantulas slipped the data slug and holo cube out of his subspace and onto the desk. Simultaneously he pinged Prowl his annotated copy of the files to have on hand. Then, a practiced scoop and flick of a single wrist had the data slug connected into the holo cube, and the hologram of an oversized sniper rifle flickered to life above the desk.
> 
> “And here we have it - a beautiful specimen of a Uniend transformable nucleon charge rifle. To us, this is roughly proportional to how it would fit Windchill - that is to say, it’d be  _far_ larger in actuality, hyeh. I haven’t had the time to see what the specs do when it’s downsized, but I’m sure I could eventually recreate the arm without losing firepower or efficiency.”

Prowl

> “I’m ready.” Very ready. “Let’s begin—please.”
> 
> Prowl’s processor fans clicked on almost as soon as the holo cube did, mentally dissecting it into pieces and seeing how all of it fit together. “‘Transformable’?” Without waiting for an explanation, he started mentally manipulating any pieces that looked mobile to figure out how it transformed himself.

Tarantulas

> Prowl probably wouldn’t have any trouble figuring out that it was -
> 
> “Windchill’s arm,” Tarantulas said simply. Anticipating Prowl was playing with the rifle in his mind already, he waited a moment before activating the transformation sequence in holo. When it was done and flipped back, the rifle settled with all its pieces floating slightly apart.
> 
> “Nothing too extraordinary on the outset - it’s fundamentally similar to our blasters in mechanism, and physically takes the place of their former null ray guns, so the size isn’t unusual. Obviously it’s the power pack that makes the difference, and the tweaks to the internal specs.”
> 
> Tarantulas shifted slightly behind Prowl, not-so-accidentally sliding his paw in inches up Prowl’s leg.
> 
> “…How much do you already know about particle beam weapons?”

Prowl

> Prowl nodded. He’d figured that out almost as soon as he’d asked. The fingers were rather obvious. He leaned a bit forward as the gun transformed, transformed back, and separated—studying how the pieces connected up close.
> 
> “A bit  _large_  compared to most blasters, isn’t it? Even taking our difference in scale into account. And the power pack doesn’t account for all of that.” He scooted forward slightly on Tarantulas’s thigh, not-so-accidentally sliding Tarantulas’s paw up another couple of inches in the process. “Does the nucleon necessitate the size? I know it requires more shielding than most other materials. Or is it weapon design itself that calls for the size?”
> 
> A tiny shrug; one of Prowl’s lowered doors brushed against Tarantulas’s chest. “I know what they do in combat, roughly. And what kind of defenses are effective against them. I can’t tell you how they’re constructed or what makes them work.”

Tarantulas

> In response to Prowl’s scooting forward, Tarantulas gently grasped his leg, as if to provide balance. “As far as I can see, it’s a little bit of all three. There aren’t any other additions to it I wouldn’t be able to account for otherwise.”
> 
> Tarantulas hummed his acknowledgement. “I’ll try to explain as concisely as I can, then. In short, the power pack contains a gas and a battery - sig gas and a nucleon-based battery, in this case. When the blaster is fired, the gas moves to the gas conversion enabler, where it’s energized to plasma by the attached battery. Then, to the actuating blaster module where the plasma is compressed into a beam, and then through a photonic crystal to focus it before it’s amplified by the galven circuitry in the barrel.” The whole time, Tarantulas followed the progression of the shot through the gun with his free claw, nudging at pieces and parts when they were relevant or in the way. “Innovation in most weapons is going to consist of small modifications of one or more of those steps, which is what seems to be happening in this case - the battery first and foremost, but also the crystal and the galven circuitry.”

Prowl

> Grasp harder.
> 
> “How would you handle the shielding on a smaller model?” Prowl asked. “Even if the battery is smaller, I imagine the shielding would need to be just as thick as on the larger model—which would modify the rest of the design, wouldn’t it?”
> 
> He listened closely as Tarantulas explained, optics keenly focused on the model, following along. The explanation was vaguely familiar, as though he’d heard parts of it before but not the whole thing.
> 
> And of course what he had heard, he’d heard during his time in the police. “Yes—the photonic crystal is important in ballistics investigations. The shape of the crystal affects the spread of the plasma, and how far in front of the crystal the beam’s narrowest focal point will be—roughly speaking, it determines whether the blaster acts like a shotgun or a sniper.” And since all crystals had a few molecular differences that minutely effected the beam, the plasma’s blast pattern could be read to determine which crystal—and, as a consequence, which gun—it had come from. But that fascinating factoid was a little bit outside their current subject of discussion.
> 
> He let go of Tarantulas’s thigh so he could reach out toward the model, tracing the hologram of the crystal. “I’ve never learned the particulars about how plasma refracts, though. How is this crystal designed to focus the beam?”

Tarantulas

> “It wouldn’t have to,” Tarantulas replied, looking over the power pack and zooming in on the shielding specs. “Now that I know what they’re working with -” Tap tap. “- I’m fairly sure I could come up with something slimmer after some experimenting. It’s not the first thing on my to-do list, but it’d be easier than modifying the rifle itself.”
> 
> Tarantulas had an uncomfortable moment of deja-vu while Prowl was elaborating on the ballistics details - he’d heard this from N-Prowl too, a long, long time ago. Not that he would have remembered it otherwise, but still - he shoved the thought from his mind before it dragged him down a path he didn’t want to go down right now.
> 
> Instead of dwelling, Tarantulas saw fit to slide his paw further up Prowl’s leg, slowly enough to not dislodge Prowl’s grip on the fur. Just as it seemed he was about to slide up against Prowl’s interface paneling, he lifted his paw, barely ghosting over it as he instead wrapped his arm around Prowl’s midsection. Tarantulas may not have been very subtle at the moment, but that didn’t mean he had to be  _forward_  about it, oh no.
> 
> “’Refract’ wouldn’t exactly be the right word here - we’re not dealing with light until after the beam escapes the barrel. Plasma focusing, though, technically occurs even before the plasma hits the crystal. When it’s in the XCiter - the actuating blaster module - it’s focused due to Z-pinching. Err, electromagnetic compression, that is. The crystal is simply a way to focus it down even  _more_  via ionic focusing, since the photonic crystal is sufficiently inert in order to cause diffusion of electrons, which strips down the particle beam and creates a radial electric field that compresses the plasma even more.
> 
> “But - you asked how the photonic crystal is designed in particular, correct? Weapons-grade photonic crystals rely specifically on the fact that they’re generally semiconductive, uncharged, and structurally uniform. That allows the crystal to, respectively, isolate the XCiter from the barrel, pinch the plasma, and channel it forward down the blaster. The first two are unchangeably required, but variations in the crystalline structure and overall shape are permissible and allow for different spreads and focal points, as you described.
> 
> “If you look closely -” Zoom zoom. “- you can see that this crystal actually breaks those rules slightly, and is simultaneously  _insanely_  laterally optimized for long-range shooting. What I mean to say is - it’s piezoelectric, and there’s a mechanism for applying a temporary radial electric field to the crystal, which I think is positively  _fantastic_. Well, positively  _and_ negatively, hyeheh. Once you apply a field of given strength, the width and height of the crystal are correspondingly minutely altered in order to cause drastic changes in the distance of the focal point. It’s  _ridiculous_ , the variation in range this rifle can achieve - but frankly I’m even  _more_  amazed by the fact that whoever made this rifle managed to stabilize the crystal after removing the field  _without losing the shape_. I  **still**  haven’t quite figured out how that aspect works.”

Prowl

> A twitch of a smirk. Yes, of course Tarantulas could come up with something slimmer. “No, of course this shouldn’t he high on your to-do list—not right now. But, hypothetically speaking.”
> 
> Prowl’s fingers dragged slightly as Tarantulas skipped over his interface panel, not expecting him to miss the target entirely. Tease. Tarantulas might have noticed that static electricity was already faintly radiating off the panel, stirring the fur on Tarantulas’s paw.
> 
> “Electromagnetic compression,” Prowl murmured, leaning forward and stirring the components of the gun until he could see the mechanism behind that himself. “Is there a way to zoom in on the pieces?” He tried spreading his fingers apart, seeing if that made the pieces get larger. 
> 
> A thin laugh. “I don’t even know what piezoelectric  _means_.” His engine gave a small, appreciative purr. Not a lot of people could teach Prowl about things he didn’t know. He scooted back against Tarantulas’s chest again, briefly lifting his hips up and pressing his panel closer to Tarantulas’s paw in the process. “So, do different electric fields cause differences in range? How does the distance increase relative to the strength of the field—proportionately, inversely, exponentially?”

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas absolutely noticed the static electricity. Honestly he felt like he deserved an award for not letting the resulting uptick in his arousal strangle his vocals or distract his train of thought.
> 
> “Yes, I believe you can just -” Tarantulas reached out and made a sort of double-tap motion between his claws, then spread them for variability just as Prowl had.
> 
> Oho, a purr? Tarantulas returned it, although his was more of a physical sensation than a sound. “Mechanical stress on a piezoelectric solid results in electric charge - squish it and it generates electricity. Inversely, applying an electric field results in mechanical stress - polarize it and it distorts itself. Surely you can see the applicability here and elsewhere.
> 
> “As for your questions - yes, and proportionately, since the relationship between field and crystal is proportionate. The calculations are fairly simple.” Ping - Prowl received [a few equations and an example](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FPiezoelectricity%23Mathematical_description&t=YWY3YWEyNTgwZGIzNGIwMmRjMTQ3MjYzNzFlNWMxYTcwY2MxZTAwOSw5Q2pTNGxoMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AK9X-hpsLTfAoaXbszLkPYQ&p=http%3A%2F%2Faranea-mechanica.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F159744142484%2Fchills-gun-and-chill&m=0). (Tarantulas hadn’t forgotten what happened the last time he started sending Prowl math.)
> 
> While Prowl worked with the calculations, Tarantulas pulled his free paw in to join the other and let them wander across torso plating, claws barely scraping at seams and fur no more than brushing the metal. Momentarily he attempted to encompass Prowl’s waist, but inexorably moved on.
> 
> “As I said, the  _miraculous_ thing is how they managed to get the crystal to maintain shape after removing the electrical field. I’ll ask about it, but I highly doubt there were many of these rifles ever made; the mechanics of and around the photonic crystal are impractical to mass-produce in any way. …Well, among  _other_  things. But I’m not sure if you’re ready to move on…?”
> 
> With that, Tarantulas made as if to smooth his paws up over Prowl’s bumper. The last time he recalled petting Prowl like this, he hadn’t had much chance to explore either stomach  _or_ bumper - would there be any fun reactions to note?

Prowl

> An impressive display of self-control, Tarantulas.
> 
> Prowl experimented himself—copying the double-tap motion, using his index and pinky fingers to mimic Tarantulas’s claw-tipped paw—until he was sure he could reliably zoom in and out. Then zoomed in on the crystal and settled back against Tarantulas.
> 
> _Oh._  Nice sound. Prowl pressed back harder against Tarantulas. And then almost immediately turned to stare over his shoulder at him. You can  _squeeze things_  to get electricity?? “How does  _that_  work?”
> 
> And he was immediately rewarded with math. His processor fans kicked up a notch faster and warm air puffed out of his vents, brushing Tarantulas’s arms as they wandered over his frame. No resistance, no complaints, no hesitation. He gets a shiver if he brushes over Prowl’s grille, behind the fanged push bar.
> 
> “And you don’t know how they get the crystal to stay in place after it’s been charged?” He reached for the hologram without budging an inch away from Tarantulas’s chest. How far could he zoom in—enough to see the crystal structure?
> 
> “It shouldn’t be hard to reverse-engineer.” To his credit, his voice was remarkably steady as well. “Give me the variables and formulas you want to try out, I’ll run the calculations and simulations.” A ping: Prowl had already absorbed Tarantulas’s example and was plugging in different electric field strengths and permittivities to see what happened—not that he fully understood the results. That was for Tarantulas to decipher. “We could solve this. Do you want to?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was more than pleased to have Prowl responding so well, both intellectually and physically, to his advances. The whole situation seemed surreal - the ease with which they’d coordinated the meeting, slipped into the groove, bodies pressing flush against each other without any apparent discomfort or unease. Please,  _please_ , let things keep progressing this smoothly.
> 
> Tarantulas laughed lightly at Prowl’s curiosity. “Like  _that_.” The math, of course. If any language made sense to Prowl, it’d be that one, so Tarantulas let the topic be unless further queries were made. He was busy exploring Prowl’s torso, anyhow - up toward the push bar, claws hooking around the metal fangs, fur fitting itself in crevices in the grille as it pushed past. 
> 
> Unfortunately, Prowl would discover that zooming in on the crystal in the hologram produced no further detail aside from the general outline. Tarantulas seemingly understood what he meant to find, though. “They didn’t give the molecular structure, no. That’s the main reason I’m not certain how they managed to retain the crystal’s shape without the field. If I  _knew_ …”
> 
> Oh, Prowl had no idea what his words were doing to Tarantulas. Already his systems were running warm - unusual for him - and the suggestion of collaboration had a tangible shiver running down his spinal strut.
> 
> “ _Do I want to_ ,” Tarantulas repeated, a combination of humor and lust lacing his vocals. “Is that even a question? Allow me a moment to analyze this -” The pinged data, of course. “- and pull together what I need, and we’ll work our magic.”
> 
> While Tarantulas pulled up the data he needed, his paws busied themselves with Prowl’s frame, one coming up to a shoulder and exploring the kibble there, the other trailing back down past heated vents toward Prowl’s hips. Meanwhile, he also started nibbling at Prowl’s shoulder and neck with careful mandibles.
> 
> Finally, a ping - a set of proposed interlacing equations and the full set of data Tarantulas wanted Prowl to apply. If all went well, calculations would produce the top possible combinations of permittivity and molecular structure of the crystal.

Prowl

> Surreal, yes, but also surreally familiar; he’d had meetings so similar to this with Mesothulas, running their hands over each other as they murmured formulas and figures to each other. Primus, was it a relief and a thrill to have this back. Even when he knew it was wrong, knew it was different, (knew that Mesothulas was dead and it was Prowl’s fault).
> 
> Hush, hush. Guilt wouldn’t bring Mesothulas back. Tarantulas is here. Focus on that.
> 
> Prowl shuddered as Tarantulas’s paws slid over his grill. “Hardly a decent blueprint without the molecular structure.” His voice was just a bit strained. The surface of his armor began trembling with his vents, the strain of trying to keep himself under control and perfectly still as Tarantulas’s hands roved over him and voice whispered about molecular structures in his audial.
> 
> Yes, he did have to ask. Just in case Tarantulas was different from Mesothulas, just in case he needed different ratios and mixes and orders of foreplay to science to sex. Prowl didn’t know how he worked. You can never just _assume._  But he’s got a yes. An enthusiastic yes. An enthusiastic yes with words like  _we_  and  _our_  and  _magic._
> 
> And there—some work for Prowl to do. His processor fans finally kicked on to their top speed. He braced himself with one hand against Tarantulas’s opposite thigh, so he could buck up against the paw over his hip, encouraging it to do more, as he started plugging in variables. In seconds, he started pinging over results—unstable; unstable; low permittivity…

Tarantulas

> Maybe Prowl had been in situations like this before, but Tarantulas had never had the honor in his native universe. Certainly, it’d been something he’d dreamt of countless times, but only now was it becoming reality.
> 
> And wow, what a reality. Prowl was shuddering and trembling on his lap, and Tarantulas was allowed - no, nearly  _urged_  to touch, to toy, to tease. Well, maybe not to tease, with the way Prowl was pushing his hips up like that, but at this point Tarantulas didn’t mind. He’d indulge him shortly.
> 
> “It’s possible the designers deliberately wanted it left out, but I don’t mind doing the work myself; do you?” Entirely rhetorical, of course; Tarantulas already knew what the answer would be. He was  _doubly_  sure of it once the results started coming in one after the other. 
> 
> One paw up at Prowl’s shoulder keeping him closely pressed against him, Tarantulas finally let the other make contact with Prowl’s interface panel, no longer merely brushing lightly, but pressing and caressing. Cautiously he let an extended claw trace the lines of the paneling as well, digging just a little into the seams.
> 
> A quick assessment of the first few results, and Tarantulas purred into Prowl’s audial. “Raise the lower bound on the permittivity: 8.75 f/m minimum. That should slim things down somewhat.”

Prowl

> A smile slipped across Prowl’s face, and disappeared just as quickly. “No. Not at all.” Prowl’s voice was getting thinner in his frame’s efforts to keep him cool. (Turns out that fur pressed over your vents makes it hard to cool down.)
> 
> “Ah—”  _Finally._  He braced his shoulders against Tarantulas’s chest, arched his back, raised his hips, and ground against Tarantulas’s paw. Eager, insistent; his panel was hot and practically crackling with static. If Tarantulas so much as hinted that he wanted more access, Prowl’s panel would immediately pop open.
> 
> Which meant it was time for him to bring in his last security measure.
> 
> “8.75 f/m minimum,” Prowl repeated. He tilted his helm back, against the crook of Tarantulas’s neck. “And I think the—these,” he pinged over a class of crystal structures—he didn’t know what they were made of, how they functioned, only that they made the math go wrong, “we can leave these out.”
> 
> But the calculations stilled, and Prowl put a hand over the paw pressed to his panel—holding Tarantulas firmly against him, but not letting him move. “Hold on. I’ve gotta—make a comm. Just—thirty seconds.”

Tarantulas

> “Hmmmm - I see… This might not even be a photonic crystal then.”
> 
> Tarantulas was obscenely satisfied with how enthralled Prowl was now, how deeply he was lost in the data and the pleasure. It was a thrilling feeling of control and reciprocal arousal that he’d felt maybe once or twice before, and Primus, now he  _had_  to have more. So, the more Prowl arched back, the more Tarantulas held his shoulder tight against his chest; the more Prowl moved his hips, the more intently Tarantulas focused on wordlessly seducing him into retracting his panel.
> 
> But then the sudden rush of activity was stalled. “A - a  _comm_?” The incredulity in Tarantulas’ voice was almost tangible, though he worked out the implications quickly enough. “I suppose it can’t be helped, but if it’s any  _more_  than thirty seconds -” He left the sentence unfinished.
> 
> Even with his paw held in place, Tarantulas wasn’t necessarily kept from pushing onward, his mandibles nibbling, scraping, and tugging at the cables running the length of Prowl’s exposed neck. After a moment Tarantulas laughed lightly through said mandibles. “Do tell Soundwave I say hello.” A guess, but a good one.

Prowl

> Prowl turned his head just enough to give Tarantulas a warning look. If it was any more than thirty seconds, Tarantulas would just have to deal with it like a mature, emotionally stable person who didn’t think that his right to access Prowl’s body was bigger than Prowl’s right to ensure he felt safe offering it—or else this was going to end very fast.
> 
> Thankfully, though, it didn’t take more than thirty seconds. Which was good for both of them, because if Tarantulas had kept working on his neck like that, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on the call anyway. “M'not telling him that,” he mumbled, as he ended the comm call. “Okay.”
> 
> He didn’t let go of Tarantulas’s paw just yet—but only so he could hold it as close as possible as he resumed grinding against him. The calculations picked up again, one result after another pinged over.

Tarantulas

> Oh please, give Tarantulas a break. He might not exactly be the most mature, emotionally stable person, but he knew better than to push his luck too far at the moment; he’d give Prowl as long as he needed… within reason.
> 
> Ah, confirmation that it was Soundwave. A reasonable comm recipient, Tarantulas thought, if what Prowl was doing was calling him to give a warning/heads up. But then the call was done, and Tarantulas could get back to doing what Prowl had had to comm Soundwave about in the first place. Perfect.
> 
> A purr resonated through Tarantulas’ chest as Prowl rolled his hips into the closely-clutched paw - obviously, he had no objections to Prowl holding it there. Curved in segments as it was, the paw fit perfectly against Prowl’s panel, almost as if it were made for it. The same could be said of Tarantulas’ mandibles now open and splayed around the side of his neck, with the inner chelicerae doing most of the cable-teasing.
> 
> Tarantulas still kept his wits about him though, remaining focused enough to sift through the incoming results and run analyses on them. Strangely enough, his voice stayed smooth and calm - probably something to do with the confidence he was feeling more and more as the situation escalated so flawlessly.
> 
> “Focus in on non-centrosymmetric structures - the ones marked with asterisks.” A ping with a new equation to factor in, as well as all 230 space groups marked accordingly. “And, hyeh… feel free to retract your panel whenever you see fit.”

Prowl

> It was a good thing for both of them that they didn’t need to test out whether Tarantulas’s definition of “within reason” lined up with Prowl’s. Because it probably didn’t.
> 
> Prowl wasn’t sure at this point what he was enjoying more—the mouth nibbling and tugging at his neck and shoulder, or the paw fitting snugly between his legs. He didn’t know if there was any point in trying to figure it out. But, he should probably be returning the favor now, shouldn’t he? He untangled his fingers from the fur on Tarantulas’s other thigh, and ran them along Tarantulas’s inner thigh instead, along the joint between his leg and the furred panel covering his groin.
> 
> “Non-centrosymmetric…? Does that mean thh—hn.” He tilted his head. Oh, yes, bite harder please. “That—the crystal isn’t symmetrical? Wouldn’t that disrupt how the beam…?” But he didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure what centrosymmetric meant. He kept running calculations, putting in the new equation and narrowing his search to the structures Tarantulas had indicated.
> 
> The moment Tarantulas said “retract,” Prowl’s panel snapped open, exposing his already-hot array. Already-lubed valve pressed to Tarantulas’s paw, coiled-cord spike to the fur above it. (Briefly, he worried about fur getting tangled in the coils. They could stop and adjust if it became a problem.) It wouldn’t take much for Tarantulas’s paw to become slick with Prowl’s lubricant.

Tarantulas

> _Damnit_. This wasn’t the time to try and reciprocate touches, Prowl, Tarantulas was trying to concentrate. The fingers in and around his joint had him jerking his hips back, a shudder rolling up his spinal strut and all the way out through his spider limbs. No, nonono. Maybe if Tarantulas sufficiently distracted Prowl he could maintain his composure…?
> 
> “N-non- **centro** symmetric,” Tarantulas stuttered briefly against Prowl’s neck, biting down around it and hooking the chelicerae on a cable. “No point symmetry across the center, i.e. no inversion symmetry, which doesn’t exclude being otherwise symmetrical.”
> 
> And then there was the beautiful sound of Prowl’s panel retracting, valve and spike now in Tarantulas’ eager paw. Prowl wouldn’t have anything to worry about with the fur and coils - the fur had been designed with situations like these in mind, lubricant smoothing it down into a unified surface with little chance for the hair to catch, even on backward slides. So long as the paw was slick and the chemical reaction was kept activated, they’d be good to go.
> 
> That didn’t mean the surface was entirely flat, though - Prowl would definitely feel a little pleasant friction as Tarantulas’ paw rubbed against his cords and valve. Then came a tease or two in which Tarantulas dragged his paw up and focused attention against and around Prowl’s valve entrance; then a further slide upward and slow stroke of his ready spike. Tarantulas couldn’t help letting a low, breathless noise escape his vocalizer, as if it were  _his_ array being tended to instead of Prowl’s.

Prowl

> It’s always time to reciprocate touches. That’s what a considerate partner does. Unless you’ve pre-arranged that you’re not going to reciprocate, but obviously they hadn’t. His hand continued moving, sliding beneath the furred panel and feeling where it ended, searching for the seams.
> 
> He hissed as Tarantulas hooked around a cable, the sound coming between his teeth and out his cents. “Careful. Don’t break it.” He wasn’t sure which cable that was or how important it was, but generally he wasn’t too happy about partners in positions that could snap wires that might be carrying signals through his body. “I don’t know what inversion symmetry…” He dimmed his optics, trying to focus through the nervous thrill of fangs hooked into his neck. “Is that… So the symmetry looks like a… a mirror, instead of a, whatstheword, a kaleidoscope?” He lifted his hand off Tarantulas’s paw to make a gesture that completely failed to illustrate his point.
> 
> Tarantulas’s paw was slightly rough, against the smooth coiled wires that lined his valve and curled up into his spike; rough and yet paradoxically soft. Prowl had only interfaced with a handful of mechs who had followed the recent “organic-style interface array” trend, but none of them had felt anything like this. They were  _squishy,_  just gel in a sack wrapped around a hard core; but squishy wasn’t the same as  _soft_. He almost lowered his hand back onto Tarantulas’s paw, but held back, resisting the urge to direct and just waiting to see what Tarantulas did. Instead he let it rest on Tarantulas’s forearm, trying to keep his touch light. It was  _hard,_  though, with Tarantulas tracing around his valve and up his spike. Tiny electric sparks crackled through the lubricant slicking down Tarantulas’s fur.
> 
> “Doesn't—hurt, right?” Most organics had lower thresholds for what electricity they could tolerate. He didn’t know what Tarantulas’s could take. That little noise was promising, though (and elicited a pleased rumble from Prowl’s engine).
> 
> All the while, the calculations continued, slashing space group after space group, and then slashing them crystal system by crystal system, dozens of groups cut out with a single calculation—triclinic, monoclinic, orthorhombic, Prowl couldn’t even picture them fully but he knew from the math that they were wrong. If they were plugged in, Tarantulas could show him—
> 
> Another pulse of static across his array at the thought. But no. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He angled his hips to try to rub his valve against Tarantulas’s paw again, and turned his helm to say to Tarantulas, almost breathlessly, “hexagonal.” He could narrow down the group from there.

Tarantulas

> “I would never,” Tarantulas replied reverently, his chelicerae still hooked on the cable. “Besides, it’s your sternocleidomastoid, easily reparable.” Still though, he was considerate enough to eventually let go, letting the pointed tips catch on the cable’s ridges as he withdrew.
> 
> It was a good thing he did, with the tantalizing way Prowl’s fingers kept exploring around his crotchpiece and panel. Certainly he’d feel the heat and static buildup of his arousal around the paneling - although admittedly the excess was less than Prowl’s due to efficiency mods. If that wasn’t enough to go by, the shivers and muted noises would be sufficient to clue Prowl in as to how much he was already affecting Tarantulas. But - he still hadn’t retracted any paneling, not yet.
> 
> A nod against Prowl’s neck, mandibles brushing perpendicular to cabling. “Yes, roughly speaking. The extent of the symmetry depends on the space group, though.” Tarantulas would have sent him an appropriate diagram, but he was too focused on Prowl’s pleasure to go searching around for one; forgive him for being a little single-minded at the moment.
> 
> As far as the electricity went: “Mmn? No, no, it’s - it’s lovely. Don’t worry about me, Prowl, I’m  _quite_  alright.” A purr to emphasize the point, and another stroke of Prowl’s spike to distract him. Tarantulas certainly wouldn’t have minded if Prowl had used his hand to direct him, but he’d do his best to take guidance from physical cues instead. But - did the tilt up into his paw mean Prowl wanted further attention to his spike, or a return to his valve? Lighter, firmer? Tarantulas would just have to experiment.
> 
> “Hexagonal? Hm…” A gradually tighter grip on Prowl’s spike. “Fifty-two space groups…” A slight twist of his wrist with each stroke. “The lattice - it’s probably hexagonal as well, but don’t nix the rhombohedral structures just yet.” And then he slowed and let go, sliding his paw back down to Prowl’s valve. Hopefully the subsequent responses would help narrow down Prowl’s preferences as effectively as they were narrowing down molecular structures.

Prowl

> That word had six syllables and Prowl didn’t understand any of them. He let out a soft whine. His sternocliddomiddo was Tarantulas’s.
> 
> It certainly wasn’t going to escape Prowl’s notice that Tarantulas was keeping his panel in place. Well, Prowl had kept his on until Tarantulas had told him to open up; maybe Tarantulas was doing the same. Prowl would explore the panel a little bit more—the panel and those little shivers and sounds Tarantulas was making—before suggesting he open up.
> 
> “Roughly speaking,” Prowl mumbled. That was enough to go on for now. He didn’t need to know what it looked like to do the math anyway; although oh, wouldn’t that enhance the experience… Next time.
> 
> Prowl’s knees tightened around Tarantulas’s thigh as Tarantulas’s grip tightened on his spike, and when Tarantulas twisted Prowl twisted back. “Th-thirty-eight,” he corrected, “if we’ve already eliminated the fourteen centrosymmetric ones.” Okay, he hadn’t been going for spike, but that worked too—Oh, there we go. Valve, valve. He pushed against Tarantulas’s paw again. “Try the… ah…” He raised his hand off Tarantulas’s arm and curled all his fingers in except the pinky and index, echoing the gesture he’d made earlier when he’d tried to copy Tarantulas’s claw movements. “The—claw tips? Between my cords?”

Tarantulas

> “Thirty-eight,” Tarantulas repeated, stifling a brief flurry of embarrassment. It was a minuscule mistake, but  _still_.
> 
> Meanwhile, he wasn’t deliberately hiding his array, per se. If he gave in and allowed Prowl full access though, he was more than certain he’d get lost in the sensation, in the thrill of finally,  _finally_  having those hands fulfilling so many of his fantasies. No, he’d prefer to keep control as long as possible, thank you. He let himself squirm for now, let himself slide his free leg over  _just_  a bit for more room, but no more.
> 
> Besides, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t already deriving the utmost pleasure from Prowl’s whines and twists and stutters. The test results seemed fairly conclusive in that respect - valve it was, then. 
> 
> A soft laugh in Prowl’s audial. “ _Certainly_.” And with that, the two tarsal claws on Tarantulas’ paw were brushing up against the cords around Prowl’s valve, tentatively at first, then deftly pushing and slipping between them in ways that blunt digits never quite could.
> 
> Oh, it was so fantastic, all of it - but the only thing was, Tarantulas couldn’t really  _see_  what he was doing. Not that he couldn’t manipulate Prowl’s array just fine without, he’d seen its schematics before; but Primus, how he’d love a good look at his equipment. Best to help Tarantulas optimize the experience, right?
> 
> After a moment more of delving his claws in the gaps of Prowl’s cords, Tarantulas reluctantly removed his paw from the array. “My apologies for the disruption -” A slight nuzzle against Prowl’s neck. “- but I - I think we ought to  _relocate_.”

Prowl

> Prowl didn’t even acknowledge Tarantulas’s self-correction. He didn’t see any need to; there were so many more interesting things to think about right now.
> 
> Prowl took advantage of the increased access to further explore the seams around Tarantulas’s crotchpiece. For a moment, anyway—until the feeling of Tarantulas’s tiny digits digging between his tightly-wound cords made his fingers convulsively clench in the fur. “ _Ffr—_  Yes. That’s good. Like that.” Part of him was tempted to just wrap both arms backwards over Tarantulas’s shoulders and hold on. Finish his calculations and enjoy the ride from there.
> 
> Prowl’s hips automatically followed when Tarantulas’s hand withdrew. Relocate? “Yes, that's—a fine idea. I concur.” It would put them at a much better angle to do more than just blindly paw at each other’s arrays. He stood up, still straddling Tarantulas’s thigh, and picked up the holo cube. It was, after all, an important participant in this exercise.

Tarantulas

> Oh Primus, Tarantulas was loath to let Prowl go with the way he’d clutched at his fur like that, but he’d already committed, and Prowl was already standing. Tarantulas gave a hum of amusement though as Prowl grabbed the holo cube; he knew exactly why it was coming along with them. But -
> 
> “Ah ah - not so quick.” An arm wrapped around Prowl’s waist, keeping him from leaving just yet. “Allow me.” And in one swift motion Tarantulas stood and scooped Prowl up into a bridal-style carry. Thankfully Prowl was  _just_  light enough for him to pick up, so long as he didn’t need to do it for long - which, of course, he didn’t. All he had to do was get to the berth, the one in the back they’d lain on before, where he deposited him as gently as possible. 
> 
> A ridiculous romantic Tarantulas may be, but he doubted Prowl would mind.
> 
> Tarantulas wasted no time rearranging them on the berth, kneeling straddling one of Prowl’s legs as the other mech was spread out before him on the berth. Then, after pulling up the other leg for better access, Tarantulas’ paw automatically found its way back between Prowl’s legs - but he hesitated a moment before his claws went back to work. What a  _lovely_  sight, that bared array… and was that a shimmer in his lubricant, even…?
> 
> Then, leaning forward over Prowl even as his paw pressed against his valve and claws delved between cables, Tarantulas fixed his gaze on Prowl’s face, his own visor glowing almost golden.
> 
> “So what is it now? Doubtless you’ve got the configuration figured out already.”

Prowl

> “Tar—!” Suddenly Prowl felt  _small._  Small and vulnerable. The “vulnerable” bit, he could do without; but getting to feel smaller again, closer to his actual size… That made up for it. Provided that this didn’t last very long. He leaned into Tarantulas’s chest.
> 
> (Outside the berth room, he heard Scavenger quietly moving. Prowl was worried he thought seeing his boss get picked up was reason to intervene; but no, he didn’t come in. He must have just been readjusting his view.)
> 
> The moment Tarantulas set him down, his doors popped back up to their usual positions—much better—and he set the holo cube to the side, so he could focus on Tarantulas.
> 
> For a moment, he just… watched Tarantulas watch him. Tarantulas had this focus, this intensity about him, when he found a project that enthralled him, and not even his visor could hide that intensity. It was mesmerizing to watch. And it was so rare for that intensity to be turned on Prowl himself.
> 
> Then Tarantulas was looming more heavily over Prowl, and he squeezed his knees around Tarantulas’s thigh again even before his paw returned to Prowl’s array.
> 
> The configuration. Right. Prowl opened his mouth to answer—and then realized he had no idea how to say subscripts and superscripts out loud. But now his mouth was open.
> 
> So instead, he wrapped his arms around Tarantulas’s back armor, and pulled him down into a hungry kiss.
> 
> And pinged over the solution: « _C_ 6v4- _P_ 63 _mc_.»


	42. Chill's Gun and Chill Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Windchill's gun proves itself to be a worthy wingman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: this chapter is rated **Mature**. Like, moreso than the last one was.
> 
> Also FYI there's a side-reference to a Cybertronian STI that's literally named "glittercrotch" - it's something created by the Rodimus of Prowl's universe, and it's exactly what it sounds like, a.k.a. it makes a mech's transfluid glitter. (And no, neither of the authors were responsible for naming it "glittercrotch," of all things.)

> « _C_ 6v4- _P_ 63 _mc_.»

Tarantulas

> Let Scavenger move and shift, Tarantulas didn’t care; he didn’t even know which Constructicon it was anyway, and it didn’t matter, so long as they didn’t see fit to intervene. And why  _should_  they? Tarantulas was playing by the rules - and in his humble opinion it was going  _spectacularly_  well.
> 
> For some reason the sight of Prowl’s lips parting had Tarantulas’ spark spinning dizzily in his chest. It seemed it wasn’t an unwarranted anticipation - a split second later Prowl was tugging him down and kissing him and  _oh_  it was perfect, even though their mouths didn’t match in the least, because the passion was still overwhelmingly there. Recalling Prowl’s suggestion from the last time they kissed, Tarantulas tipped his helm sideways, nipping and nuzzling to encourage Prowl to do the same.
> 
> By no means did he at any point forget where his paw currently was, though. The force of the kiss had had him firmly cupping Prowl’s array, both valve and spike pressed against his eager paw, but it wasn’t long before he picked back up where he’d left off, claws in Prowl’s cords and paw moving in small motions to add friction and pressure.
> 
> And then he was pinged the space group notation, the virtual cherry on top of it all. Two seconds of research had Tarantulas pulling up [a plethora of information on its crystalline structure and properties](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wurtzite_crystal_structure); two seconds more and he’d sifted through it to forward the more data- and diagram-oriented content to Prowl.

Prowl

> In Prowl’s humble opinion, the fact that their mouths didn’t look the same didn’t mean they didn’t match. Not when all it took was a slight head tilt for Prowl’s lips to fit against Tarantulas’s mandibles perfectly. Prowl bent his doors to prop his shoulders up higher, matching Tarantulas’s nips by grazing his dentae along the edge of Tarantulas’s mandibles.
> 
> Prowl pressed eagerly back against Tarantulas’s paw—hard, as though trying to push through his paw and on to Tarantulas’s still-covered array. Not that the claws scraping up electricity between his coils weren’t good— _oh,_  they were good—but Prowl was determined to see Tarantulas’s equipment for himself. Or at least feel it. He’d settle for feeling.
> 
> Diagrams! And data—finally, Prowl could see  _what_  he’d just calculated. His engine purred contentedly, reverberating against Tarantulas’s chest.
> 
> He loosened his grip on Tarantulas, flattened his doors, and dropped a few inches away from Tarantulas’s face. “Is that all you need? Did we solve it?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas would have further reciprocated the kiss with his chelicerae as well, but Prowl hadn’t seen the rest of his mouth, had he? Tarantulas was hesitant to explore that aspect of his anatomy at the moment, not because he was worried Prowl would think it strange, but because he didn’t want to distract him.
> 
> The engine purring beneath Tarantulas prompted him to give an audible purr of his own - which then became a low moan at the way Prowl pressed his hips into his paw, and then some. Damnit, he couldn’t help but transform away the organic panel, letting the metallic interface panel beneath rub against his paw instead. Oh, and now he could better feel the heat, the electric charge of Prowl’s own array, so close and yet so far…
> 
> Prowl was saying words. Right. “Y-yes - a moment. If I can estimate the molecular weight…” A few breathless seconds, Tarantulas’ claws never quite stilling against and between Prowl’s cords.
> 
> “ _Gallium nitride_.” A ping with even more information. And was that a click of an interface panel retracting? Was that the added tingle of static, now sparking around Tarantulas’ paw between their arrays?

Prowl

> A sigh of relief. “Gallium nitride.” Mission successful. And as fun as that had been—now, dealing with it any more would just be a distraction. He wrapped an arm around Tarantulas’s head again and pulled him down into another kiss.
> 
> While his other arm slid between their bodies, between their legs. He mentally pulled up the blueprints Tarantulas had given him of his frame so Prowl could keep track of what he was feeling as he traced Tarantulas’s array. Finally, finally, finally. His own array sparked against Tarantulas’s paw as he slid his hand, at last, over Tarantulas’s exposed array.
> 
> But his train of thought quickly slid from the erotic to the analytical. Spike wasn’t out yet, evidently (which was just as well, since with their hips so close to each other and two arms squeezed in between, there was no room for Prowl to give it proper attention anyway). But his valve certainly was exposed (and very well lubricated; Prowl decided he could give himself a little bit of credit for that), and Prowl eagerly started exploring it. His quickly-soaked fingers slid between the plush mesh and the hard nodes ringing around Tarantulas’s valve entrance—it was so much softer than he’d been expecting. Partially organic, maybe? Prowl didn’t know.
> 
> For the moment, he focused on rubbing the two upper nodes, out of the way of the far softer mesh. He commed Tarantulas without breaking the kiss: «Let me know what your valve mesh can take. Tell me if anything is painful.» He paused, then amended himself: «Unpleasantly painful.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ mind lingered a while on the gallium nitride - what a  _strange_  choice, what interesting physical properties - before he was pulled back to the present. A kiss wasn’t an awful thing to be pulled back in by, certainly not.
> 
> Then his attention was yanked a little further south, following Prowl’s hand as he began to explore his array. Tarantulas felt entirely unprepared and far too aroused for his own good, making the curious touches feel searing hot against the pliable outer valve and nodes. 
> 
> “ _P- **Prowl**_ -”
> 
> The name was whined through mandibles even as they kissed - there was no way Tarantulas could contain himself enough to use comms, especially when he anatomically didn’t need to.
> 
> The paw on the arm that was helping support him over Prowl desperately grasped at the closest thing, Prowl’s door, as if Tarantulas were anchoring himself with it. His other paw, meanwhile, tugged at inner cords, claws digging in just a little more than intended.
> 
> “I -  _h-hahh_  - doubt you’d be able to  _hurt_ me, but I’ll - I’ll keep you informed. The same goes for you.”

Prowl

> Prowl’s lips twitched in a half smile as Tarantulas stuttered his name against him. He trailed his kisses up Tarantulas’s jawline, only stopping at his audial receptor to whisper, “ _Tarantulas._ ” His voice was thin and soft; most of the air in his frame was being pushed through his vents to keep him cool.
> 
> Small stars of pain burst behind Prowl’s optics as Tarantulas dug in harder between the wires—and he bucked his hips up against Tarantulas. Good pain. Almost but not quite too far. He kissed Tarantulas again, dentae scraping against his mandibles, and wrapped one leg around the back of Tarantulas’s thigh. «Noted.» Time to explore Tarantulas’s equipment in earnest—Prowl’s fans were all at top speed and he’d barely started touching Tarantulas.
> 
> He slid two fingertips just inside Tarantulas’s valve, half stretching the mesh to try to explore the strange soft texture and half seeing how Tarantulas reacted to it. Someday, Prowl had to get Tarantulas on his back with Prowl’s hands and head between his legs to do a proper examination of his array… Later. Right now he wasn’t going to be able to focus enough for anything more than a cursory examination, not as long as Tarantulas’s claws were calling up sparks and stars in Prowl’s own array.

Tarantulas

> “Don’t you  _dare_  susurrate like that, don’t you slagging  _dare_.” Yep, definitely still a weak whine there in Tarantulas’ voice. A corresponding shiver swept through his frame, even making his spider limbs twitch around them.
> 
> That was really nothing though, compared to his reaction to Prowl’s fingers in his valve. The penetration was shallow and slight, but to Tarantulas the depth and width made no difference - these were  _Prowl’s_  fingers in  _his_  valve. A choked moan only made it halfway out of his vocalizer, resonating against Prowl’s neck where he’d returned his mandibles. It was almost embarrassing how his calipers clenched down around just those fingertips, but Tarantulas was beyond caring. Primus, but it took  _so much effort_  to keep his shaking hips from jerking forward into Prowl’s hand, to keep his paw from “accidentally” pushing Prowl’s fingers in deeper…
> 
> Tarantulas’ helm was spinning. What should he do? Embrace the eventual tidal wave that would surely drown him, or beg Prowl to let him get his bearings back instead?
> 
> “ _Prowl_ , I - I -”

Prowl

> A snort, and Prowl pressed a kiss to the side of Tarantulas’s temple. He tried to keep his voice a bit steadier as he said, “Say you mean it and I’ll stop.” Ever obedient in the berth—some would say to a fault—Prowl will always, always, default to interpreting any “don’t” as a  _real_  “don’t,” regardless of context. Unless an alternate “don’t” had been pre-arranged. Which occasionally caused some disappointment, but also meant he got opportunities like this to get his partner to describe  _exactly_  what he wanted out of Prowl.
> 
> It was hard to wait for instruction, though, when Tarantulas was so  _reactive_. Tarantulas was moaning and clenching and shaking from only  _two fingertips_ , two soaking wet fingertips that weren’t even  _doing_  anything. And oh, did Prowl want to push them deeper, to see how little effort it would take to make Tarantulas overload against him. He could almost imagine it, he still remembered what Mesothulas’s cries sounded like…
> 
> No. No. Not yet. Self-control, Prowl, you don’t even know what Tarantulas wants yet. Prowl kept his fingertips still—but only just barely—and nuzzled Tarantulas’s helm, pulling him tighter into the crook of his neck. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it for you.”
> 
> Please say fingering.

Tarantulas

> “No - no, I don’t, it’s just -” It’s just that hearing Prowl whisper his name like that was going to be his undoing, that was all.
> 
> Tarantulas clutched at Prowl’s door tightly, trembling as he was pulled in even closer. Quick, find a diversion - with his mandibles so close to Prowl’s neck cables again, he latched on with mandibles and chelicerae like before, fangs hooked and sliding along safe cabling.
> 
> What  _did_ he want? Instant or delayed gratification? …But then again, what was the difference when  _all_  gratification seemed to be immediate?
> 
> Tarantulas rolled his hips forward into Prowl’s hand just a tad. “ _Everything_. But I - can’t have that.” An unmistakably needy noise escaped him, and he gripped Prowl’s door again, trying to steady his resolve, but…
> 
> “I-if I could just… oh Prowl, I wanted - wanted to see - wanted to short every circuit in  _your_  body  **first** , but Primus damn it all, I’m going to go  _offline_  if you don’t articulate your digits in the next millisecond,  _please_  -”

Prowl

> “Then I think I’ll keep doing it.  _Tarantulas._ ” But, sparingly.
> 
> Prowl groaned as Tarantulas’s mandibles latched onto his neck cables again. Between that and the claws digging into his array, he expected he was going to have a lot of stripped wires by the end of this.
> 
> Prowl’s fingers automatically curled as Tarantulas’s hips rolled against his hand. Scrap, that was—usually Prowl wasn’t very big on dirty talk, but in Tarantulas’s voice, all that stuttery desperation… “You can short circuit me once I’m done with you.” He thrust his fingers in all the way, took only a second to feel the strange way Tarantulas  _stretched_  around him, and then began sliding them in and out. His thumb rubbed along the nodes lined up along the side of Tarantulas’s valve.
> 
> He’d ask how he was doing, but he suspected that Tarantulas wasn’t going to be in any condition for a coherent answer. Better monitor Tarantulas’s body language instead.

Tarantulas

> No matter about the stripped cables, Prowl. Tarantulas can take care of patching you up afterwards as well. Besides, he’d been fairly careful about it ever since Prowl warned him; the only thing they’d have to worry about were surprise tugs.
> 
> “Th-that’s a promise, then-nnnnnnnoh _ss-sc_ -”
> 
> Tarantulas arched over Prowl, shaking as the two fingers slipped inside him. Strange as the sensation might be for Prowl, it was unusual for Tarantulas as well - it’d been quite some time since actual digits had been anywhere near his array. Well, that, and the fact that Tarantulas still felt like his valve was literally burning with charge at the mere idea of the dream-like situation he’d found himself in now.
> 
> Primus, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. He almost felt embarrassed, but no, there wasn’t any room for that in his mind, not with the dizzying pleasure he found himself nearly choking on.
> 
> “The - the nodes inside - _s-scroll_ -”

Prowl

> It’s the surprise tugs that have Prowl worried. But as long as Tarantulas wasn’t biting at any important wires, they’d be fine. He could survive having a cable or two ripped out of place.
> 
> He watched with rapt attention as Tarantulas arched over him. Beautiful, everything about him—from brightened biolights to the strange pseudo-organic twists of his armor to even the alien fur that covered half of him. Beautiful—and he was arching like that over Prowl,  _because_  of Prowl. When was the last time he’d been  _wanted_  like that?
> 
> And then Tarantulas said his nodes  _scrolled_  and that immediately became the most important thing in the world. “What.” He searched the walls of Tarantulas’s valve with his fingers; it was true. It felt like [the useless device](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/156644141039/thedragonflyao3-submitted-dragonfly-was-among) that stranger had chucked at Prowl, with the buttons and switches and such.
> 
> And Prowl is now busy scrolling the nodes in fascinated amusement. If Tarantulas’s enjoying this, it’ll be more by luck than by Prowl’s design.

Tarantulas

> If only Prowl would actually  _tell_  him what he was thinking - Tarantulas would swoon, would fall for him a million times over, return the compliments with affection in excess. Maybe it was best that Prowl didn’t mention it now, but… someday.
> 
> For now Tarantulas was caught up in the struggle to maintain what little composure he had left. As soon as Prowl started scrolling his internal nodes he gave up the fight, moaning outright against Prowl’s neck and gradually pulling harder on the cable in his chelicerae. The only thing that kept him from losing it completely was Prowl’s apparent reaction to the scrolling. Ah, but if only he knew what it  _did_ to him…
> 
> Scrambling for words, Tarantulas attempted to explain. “They - the r-rotational kinetic energy generates - converts -  _fff-frag_  -” More cursing followed, laced with lovely desperate noises muffled against Prowl’s neck.
> 
> Moments later his charge was crackling out across the gap between their arrays, hips pressing into Prowl’s hand and valve contracting spasmodically around the fingers within. Overload wracked his frame and strangled a sharp cry from his vocalizer.
> 
> “ ** _Prowl_**  - !”

Prowl

> What? Say all that, out loud? About Tarantulas being beautiful and everything? _Prowl_  say that? Hah.  _Like hell_.
> 
> He clenched his jaw, hissing as Tarantulas bit a little too hard—but the hiss turned into a soft, satisfied groan as Tarantulas started making  _noises_  against Prowl’s neck. Rotational kinetic energy—noted. He could ask for the details when the two of them were less… less… less so much. Tarantulas surely wouldn’t be able to last much longer at thisss—sss—ssssscr _ap_.
> 
> Prowl’s leg squeezed around Tarantulas’s thigh, pulling their hips closer. As Tarantulas tipped over into overload, charge crackling between both their arrays, Prowl almost tipped over with him. But not quite. Instead he just held Tarantulas’s hips against his own, and kept moving his fingers. Thumb rubbing against his outer nodes, fingers rolling his inner nodes, hand tingling with electricity, through the length of Tarantulas’s overload.
> 
> Mesothulas had always been so hungry for stimulation, even as he overloaded, as much as he could get. And Prowl—ever obedient—would give him as much as he could.
> 
> “ _Say my name again._ ”

Tarantulas

> For a brief moment Tarantulas was worried he’d sliced through a cable in Prowl’s neck, but lack of supporting evidence thankfully allowed the thought to flicker right in and out of Tarantulas’ mind. 
> 
> Instead he was consumed by the painfully fantastic way Prowl drew out his overload, dragging every last spark out of him, each tiny motion of his fingers earning him another jolt, cry, or moan. And then Prowl had to go and say  _that_ , in  _that voice_  -
> 
> “Fffrag, I -  ** _Prowl_** \- oh  _Prowl_ -”
> 
> Paws still on Prowl’s door and in his cords, Tarantulas let his cries taper off into breathless whimpers. So many times he’d imagined this happening in so many different ways, but it always ended the same, with Prowl’s name choked out of his vocalizer just like this. Except - this time Prowl was  _here_ , sharing charge with him, holding him close, and - and -
> 
> Tarantulas swore weakly into Prowl’s neck, but soon freed himself from the cables and pulled back to look Prowl in the optic, his own visor blushing gold. This was  _real_. And better yet, Prowl was still riled up beneath him, not quite over the edge yet. Wait,  _that_ \- he had to do something about that.
> 
> Tarantulas’ paw on Prowl’s door hurriedly slid to cup his face instead. “What - what can I do? For you.” A heavy roll of his paw on Prowl’s array, claws tangling just a little more into the cords. “Claws? Mandibles? Spike? I - anything you need. Anything you desire.”

Prowl

> Oh,  _that_  was an audio recording Prowl was going to be listening to again. Tarantulas, crying Prowl’s name out like that—
> 
> (—he’d heard that voice crying his name before. Prowl hadn’t needed to record it to memorize it. Another desperate whimper, from another room over: “ _Prowl…_? Oh  _no_ , Prowl,  _please_ …” Just before Mesothulas—)
> 
> (No. No.)
> 
> (No.)
> 
> … Stay focused on the present.
> 
> The present was Tarantulas, here, alive. Whimpering against Prowl,  _happily_. You made him happy, Prowl. With two fingers. He’s happy.  _You’re_  happy. Remember that.
> 
> Tarantulas’s visor was so bright.
> 
> Prowl fought the urge to pull him down into another kiss.
> 
> Anything? Anything. He turned his face slightly, pressing the corner of his lips to Tarantulas’s paw, overbright blue optics never looking away from Tarantulas’s overbright yellow visor. He tried to keep the brief darkness that had bloomed in his mind from dimming his optics.  _Anything he desired_. Wasn’t that what Tarantulas always offered him? And Tarantulas always delivered, didn’t he. Even when Prowl didn’t return that.
> 
> (You’re happy, Prowl. You made  _him_  happy. Remember that.)
> 
> So. What did Prowl want?
> 
> He rolled his hips into Tarantulas’s paw. “Hh… Hold my arms down,” he said. “Against the berth. And—do anything you want to my array. Anything tactile that won’t leave more than superficial damage. As long as you keep my arms down.”

Tarantulas

> The kiss to his paw made Tarantulas’ spark twirl in his chest. Oh, and those shining blue optics - he had no idea what was running through Prowl’s mind right now but how he wished he knew, how he wished he could  _feel_  it with him.
> 
> A low hum and another heavy caress of Prowl’s array. “That, I can _certainly_ accommodate.” Already Tarantulas was disentangling Prowl’s arms from their frames and guiding them up above his head. His paw might’ve gotten a little slick with his own lubricant in the process, but it didn’t keep him from pinning Prowl’s wrists there, and by Primus he’d keep them there no matter what.
> 
> Briefly he nuzzled at the side of Prowl’s face, but soon returned to gazing down at him, hoping the unswerving optic contact wouldn’t make Prowl uncomfortable. All the while his paw and claws never ceased their ministrations, grinding and steadily accumulating charge from between Prowl’s tightly wound cords.
> 
> “I’ll - I’ll go  _gently_  for now.” A purr, and a slight tug of his claws. “We can save the theatrics for the next round, hyeh. For now -” A shiver. “- it’s  _your_  turn to sing.”

Prowl

> Tarantulas would have no problem pinning Prowl down. As Tarantulas lifted one of Prowl’s arms above his head, Prowl let go of Tarantulas to lift his other arm to join it. And from here on out, until either they’re done or Tarantulas orders otherwise, Prowl’s wrists will not budge an inch from where Tarantulas has pinned them to the berth.
> 
> (A security update to his emergency backup: «Position update: mild restraint, no detected danger; Scrapper monitoring.» Scavenger scooted closer to the door.)
> 
> Optic contact was hard, but visor contact had always been easier for Prowl; for the moment, he could still focus on Tarantulas’s face, meeting his gaze through a safe golden filter. But it wasn’t long before his gaze drifted downward, to study as much of Tarantulas as he could see with his own chest in the way.
> 
> “Not  _too_  gentle, I hope.” A thin smirk, and he rolled his hips against Tarantulas’s paw. “I’m not—not exactly  _noisy,_  but—I’ll do what I can.” He separated his legs, sliding his knees on either side of Tarantulas’s hips, trying to give him better access. “Good?”

Tarantulas

> Even as Prowl’s gaze wandered, Tarantulas kept his focus, searching for any glimpse of an expression while he mentally traced the outlines of Prowl’s features. And then he was rewarded with that smirk -  _lovely_.
> 
> “Oh, I wouldn’t have you  _force_ it. Do as you please, it’ll still be music to my audials.” The last thing Tarantulas wanted was for Prowl to put on a show; now that he had the real deal, he  _wanted_  the real deal.
> 
> “But -  _very_ good.” Another purr, a little bodily readjustment, another slide and scrape of his claws just inside Prowl’s valve. Damnit, but now all he wanted was to spread Prowl’s legs even further, dip down, get a taste of him - but no, he hadn’t exposed his entire mouth to him yet. And his paw was too large for penetration, spider limbs out of the question without further discussion… but Primus, spiking Prowl suddenly sounded  _so good_  right now. The residual charge in Tarantulas’ array fritzed to life instantly at the thought.
> 
> From his vantage point, Prowl would be able to both hear and see Tarantulas’ spike unfurling from its housing, more than ready to sink itself into the heated valve just inches away. All he had to do was remove his paw, and…

Prowl

> A wordless nod. No, he wouldn’t force it; but there were ways to make it easier to just… make sounds naturally. Keep his lips parted, keep his mouth slightly open, and the sounds would take care of themselves. If that was what Tarantulas wanted, that was what Prowl would do.
> 
> And it already worked—a soft “ _hahh_ ” as Tarantulas’s claws scraped just inside his valve entrance.
> 
> His gaze immediately fixed on Tarantulas’s spike. So  _that_  was how it looked—the blueprints had been tricky to read. Different from Mesothulas’s. But of course it was different from Mesothulas’s; everything was different from Mesothulas. (Stop thinking about Mesothulas.) Prowl had expected Tarantulas to either keep fingering him (was it still “fingering” without fingers?) or else to ride  _Prowl’s_  spike, but this—this certainly wasn’t objectionable. Just the mental image of Tarantulas’s spike slicked with Prowl’s pearlescent fluids was enough to make his array—
> 
> Oh.  _Oh._  “W-wait.” He’d almost forgot— Had he discussed—? No— “Does your universe— Have you learned—? Uh—glitter?”  _Eloquent,_  Prowl. Didn’t help that most of his brain was still running spike-in-valve simulations.
> 
> The problem with living in a universe where 97% of everyone you’ll ever even consider touching has the same damn pointless STI that does absolutely nothing but make your interface lubricants glitter (aside from the problem of the glitter itself) is that when you make contact with another universe, it’s very easy to forget that you might need to warn them.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s stuttered “ _wait_ ” had Tarantulas jerking back, almost letting go of Prowl’s wrists, but once he explained himself Tarantulas relaxed back on top of him.
> 
> “ _Damnit_.” It was a weak curse, accompanied by laughter and a shake of his helm. “H-hyeheh, yes, I have heard of it. I should’ve known.” He’d noticed a shimmer earlier, but it was less than he’d thought it’d be - maybe the symptoms lessened over time, or in correlation with another variable, but…
> 
> “Honestly… right now I _couldn’t care less_.” It was true; and to prove his point, Tarantulas withdrew his paw and pressed his hips forward, slicking his spike against Prowl’s valve and up toward his spike as well. Briefly he took them both in hand - well, paw - and spread even more pearly lubricant over curled cords and ridged plating.
> 
> Then back down to Prowl’s valve, easily lining them up and pushing his hips forward in a slow, deep thrust. Another gasping “ _P-Prowl_ ” escaped Tarantulas’ vocalizer, and a shudder rippled through his frame.

Prowl

> Okay,  _right now_  Tarantulas couldn’t care less, but was he going to care thirty seconds after they were done? That was the important question here.
> 
> “Well, n-no,  _now_  you don’t,” Prowl said, “but—scrrp—” The rest of that sentence could wait until after he’d rubbed his spike back against Tarantulas’s. “ _Haah—_ but, are you certain you’re not  _going_  to— _ah!_ ”
> 
> Great. Moot point now. No need to worry about it anymore. Prowl let out a shuddery breath. He briefly turned off his optics so he could just… feel Tarantulas inside him. Thank goodness Prowl’s array was lined with wires that had a bit of give to them  _and_  that he’d already been so lubed up, because Tarantulas’s spike  _nearly_  didn’t fit.
> 
> The ridges that pushed his wires aside as Tarantulas slid in were going to be threatening to pull those wires loose the first time Tarantulas slid out.
> 
> That qualified as superficial damage. He could get Hook to fix that.
> 
> “Ah-alright.” His doors shifted under his upper arms, letting his shoulders lie flatter as he pulled Tarantulas’s hips down into his own. The tires in his heels pressed into the backs of Tarantulas’s thighs.

Tarantulas

> “ _Nearly didn’t fit_ ” was precisely as designed, and actually modified fairly recently - just after Tarantulas got Prowl’s interface array specs, as a matter of fact. Anything for Prowl, indeed.
> 
> That did also mean Tarantulas had anticipated for the cords to get caught on his spike ridges, but not actually threaten the valve’s integrity. The overlapping plating did have a bit of give to it, and the edges were  _just_  smooth enough not to scrape anything out of place - basically, rough sex might be damaging, but for now they’d be alright.
> 
> Tarantulas’ voice half-hissed into Prowl’s audial as he nuzzled the side of his helm again. “I don’t  _care_. If - if it’s a problem, I’ll remedy it somehow.” If anything, he might even have more readily available samples.
> 
> Not that he was thinking about that right now, of course. More important was the feel of Prowl all around him and beneath him, the sound of his fans and engine, the particular texture of his valve and the treads of his tires. Then came the delicious friction of Tarantulas’ spike inexorably withdrawing - oh  _Primus_  - and the exchange of vocalizations from them both as he began to set a slow and steady pace of fragging Prowl into the berth. 
> 
> “I’ve -  _hahh_  - this… all of this… Prowl, you’ve  _no_  idea how much I’ve craved…”

Prowl

> Prowl nuzzled Tarantulas’s helm back, and turned slightly to press a half kiss against the ridged facial finials protecting Tarantulas’s mandibles. “Up to you if it’s a problem.” If Tarantulas didn’t mind being very faintly pearlescent from now on, then Prowl certainly wasn’t going to be bothered by it. (Mesothulas hadn’t minded either.)
> 
> His back arched slightly, slowly, as Tarantulas slid out—“ _Nnnh_.” Oh, that was—that was perfect—agonizingly slow, enough that he could feel as every ridge rubbed and almost-caught on his wires, static curling through his valve, nothing could be better than—
> 
> Prowl was wrong, Tarantulas just sped up and it was better. Prowl’s optics flickered and brightened, and he almost immediately fell in pace with Tarantulas, rolling his hips to meet Tarantulas’s at the same slow pace. His vents fell against the side of Tarantulas’s helm in almost inaudible pants. Slow enough to feel every excruciating detail, but not so slow the charge had any time to disperse between thrusts. And at this pace it was almost  _tender_.
> 
> “ _Hahh_.” Half a pant and half a breathless laugh. “I’ve got—some inkling, actually.” No, perhaps he hadn’t  _crossed universes_  for this, and perhaps he had been—still was—far more willing to give this up than Tarantulas was; but that was because of what Prowl had to prioritize, and what Prowl had to be willing to sacrifice. It was no reflection on what he  _wanted_.
> 
> And oh, how Prowl had wanted this. A part of him had been hungry for it since the first time Tarantulas had appeared behind him, glittering green lights in the dim red glow of his cell, talking about biomechanical alt-modes and totipotent cells and cytokines. So dangerously brilliant. “You said—what was it?” A small moan, and he wrapped his legs tighter around Tarantulas’s hips. “‘ _I s-simply caah-an’t resist the pull of that mind of yours._ ’” And if Tarantulas asked whether Prowl was quoting him or confessing, he wouldn’t answer.

Tarantulas

> Of course, “ _almost tender_ ” was precisely as designed as well - Tarantulas kept the pace of his hips unhurried and irresistibly lush, as he was far too sentimental to spoil the moment by rushing. ( _This_  moment. Normally his impulsivity would’ve ruined everything otherwise.)
> 
> Prowl earned himself a breathless laugh in return. “Such a -  _hahh_ … flawless memory…” One rolling thrust after another. “You’re p-proving me right in your own utterances, you clever mech.” By which Tarantulas meant “ _your flawless mind is what pulled us into this mess, and it’s driving me crazy_ ” - but he wasn’t quite articulate enough to convey the entire notion at the moment.
> 
> What he  _couldn’t_ convey in words, he attempted to convey through action instead. Each thrust was made with carefully measured force, precise pressure applied between their flush hips. Every so often Tarantulas added obviously deliberate grinding in as well, the tip of his spike straining the cords at the apex of Prowl’s valve, and hopefully driving home the point that this spike had been modded, no,  _made_  for this exact purpose.
> 
> It was all about Prowl,  _for_  Prowl, Prowl’s body, Prowl’s pleasure. Even though Tarantulas had been the one to overload first, he was going to make  _damn_ sure Prowl knew where they stood. Not only that, he was going to make damn sure Prowl  _felt_  it.
> 
> Mandibles and chelicerae latched onto Prowl’s neck again, and Tarantulas groaned into the cables there. Frag, but he was already getting charged up again just thinking about it all, feeling it all, hearing Prowl’s voice and vented panting in his audial. It was - too much. And yet  _never_  enough.
> 
> That groan might’ve shifted to a little bit of a growl, and Tarantulas’ grip on Prowl’s wrists might’ve clenched just a fraction tighter.

Prowl

> A thin, shaky smirk, half at the praise and half at how Tarantulas had phrased it. Not quite articulate enough? Tarantulas had just rattled off the sentence “You’re proving me right in your own utterances” in the middle of interfacing. How many other mechs would just toss out a sentence like that in an average conversation, much less in one where they were so thoroughly distracted? Not many—outside of Tarantulas. And Prowl…
> 
> _Adored_  him for it. Let’s go with that. Adored. That wasn’t too strong a word. Was it?
> 
> Sadly, though, he was completely oblivious to how carefully customized Tarantulas’s equipment had been. At the moment, he was far too preoccupied with  _what_ Tarantulas’s equipment was doing to him to think about  _why._  But even aside from that, Tarantulas’s array might have been designed, deliberately, to fit Prowl’s array; but Prowl’s array had been designed, deliberately, to fit the  _average_  array, the middle of the Cybertronian sexual bell curve. Of course Tarantulas fit so well. He was supposed to. Everyone was supposed to. From Prowl’s perspective? It only meant that Tarantulas’s array was statistically average.
> 
> Not that that was  _bad_. When you’re designed for compatibility with the statistical average, then that’s what you’re hoping to receive. And Prowl was a firm believer that one’s equipment mattered less than knowing what to do with it. And Tarantulas certainly knew. Just hard enough, just deep enough, just slow enough. His entire array was alive and buzzing with energy, stray electrical sparks fluttering in his fuel tank, all the way up to his spark chamber. The fluttering was definitely from, specifically, the physical act of interfacing. Correlation between an increase in fluttering and Tarantulas’s groan/ _growl_  (that was for Prowl, that was because of Prowl) was no evidence of causation.
> 
> Tarantulas’s grip tightened; Prowl’s back arched more, pressing his chest against Tarantulas’s. And, with a comm ping, Tarantulas got Prowl’s countdown timer. Three minutes.

Tarantulas

> Those familiar with Tarantulas ought to know better than to assume anything about him was “statistically average.” Yes, one or two parameters might fall dead center on the bell curve, but everything else didn’t even  _belong_ on the graphs.
> 
> That said, Tarantulas’ array was compatible with Prowl’s in a perfectly standardized fashion - nothing magical about it, so to speak. However, Tarantulas wouldn’t have it any other way. The fact that he was merely a median in a sea of other compatible models was less important than the fact that he was  _Prowl’s_  median. Let Prowl be Prowl - Tarantulas would mold and shape himself both in and around him. (For now, he was focused mostly on the “in” bit.)
> 
> Then came the ping - three minutes - and Tarantulas purred deeply in approval. This would just be a challenge for him to cut down seconds at a time, or at the very least, a final stretch that he’d get to wring every bit of pleasure from.
> 
> Never altering his  _just_  hard, deep, and slow enough rhythm, Tarantulas toyed with other variables each in turn. Sternocleidomastoid? Check - his chelicerae hooked and slid, curved edges scraping along the thick cable. Hm, was there anything he could do with his spider limbs? He could reach Prowl’s doors and pin them down, one leg for each and four to spare, their soft tarsi and slim claws navigating edges, windows, and seams. 
> 
> And words, what about those? Articulate or not, Tarantulas couldn’t keep the syllables from slipping out of his vocalizer, a faint but hungry growl still underlying his vocals.
> 
> “You - you  _do_  have to show me sometime… how you calculate your -  _hhhn_ … your countdown… If nothing else, so I can better  _play havoc_  with your numbers.”

Prowl

> _Everything_  belongs on the graphs, Tarantulas. Everything. Outliers included.
> 
> Prowl’s shoulders and back hit the berth with a clank as Tarantulas’s weight on his doors forced him down—and Prowl let out an audible groan. Yes, please, oh please, keep him pinned down as many ways as possible, keep his back to the berth and his arms over his head so all he can move are his hips and legs. His timer jumped down several seconds faster, and several more as Tarantulas started caressing the seams around his windows.
> 
> Another couple seconds slid off as Tarantulas’s voice rumbled hungrily against his neck. “D-do you…  _hhah_ … want to see now?”
> 
> Without waiting for an answer, he added his calculations in to the timer feed. It was a dizzyingly massive formula, updated live in microseconds—all the numbers funneling down to calculate, simply, for  _t_ , which was still steadily dropping like sand through an hourglass. There was no way that Tarantulas would be able to translate the entire formula himself, this first time seeing it; there were units of measurement Prowl invented for his own convenience that existed nowhere outside his own mind, dependent variables calculated for with strange mixes of friction and velocity and electricity in manners never found in any physics textbook, independent variables that had been painstakingly identified from five million years of experimentation. Most of the ever-shifting numbers were drawn straight from Prowl’s tactile sensors or filtered through his emotion subroutines, pieces of Prowl’s programming and body that Tarantulas wasn’t getting access to. There was no way Tarantulas would be able to make sense of most of it.
> 
> But he could probably make sense of  _some_  of it; graph certain variables, look for patterns, experiment a bit, figure out that a tweak of this cable causes a spike in that variable, check the sub-equation that variable is used in and find out it forms a parabola where only a tweak of appropriate strength causes a peak output.
> 
> Tarantulas would learn how it worked, and then he’d improve upon it. That was his greatest skill.
> 
> “Play havoc,” Prowl dared. “A-and… go a little harder.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wouldn’t have any trouble complying with Prowl’s unspoken wishes - that groan was more than enough incentive for him to keep him pinned there, no matter how much Prowl squirmed or writhed.
> 
> And then, before Tarantulas could sneak in an overly enthusiastic “ _yes_ ,” Prowl shoved the full weight of the formula at him over comms, and it was _Tarantulas’_  turn to groan. Believe him - just because he couldn’t make sense of most of it right away didn’t mean he couldn’t be overwhelmingly impressed and aroused by it anyway. By the time Prowl spoke up again, Tarantulas had already taken the dive into the cascade of calculations, but that voice, that delectably daring voice, was enough to cut through the numerical haze in his mind.
> 
> In return, a low, emphatic hiss: “Oh, I  _will_.” 
> 
> And with that, Tarantulas swiftly executed Prowl’s wishes, thrusting forward hard enough to push Prowl a few inches up the berth. Hard didn’t mean fast, though, so he kept the pace painfully unremitting - and for good measure he shifted more weight to his spider limbs, keeping Prowl’s doors in place on the berth. One metal-scraping thrust was fine, but Tarantulas couldn’t have Prowl fragged off the berth entirely, oh no.
> 
> In the back of Tarantulas’ processor, he wrestled with the stream of oncoming data that poured into the given formula, tracking what went where as best he could. An accelerated drop in  _t_  based on the derivative taken at  _x_  timepoint - ah, precisely he’d started teasing Prowl’s window seams. Tarantulas couldn’t tell how or why it fit into the overall formula, but he’d take it and run with it, two tarsi still gently caressing while the other two dug their claws into the sensitive weather stripping. Meanwhile Tarantulas’ chelicerae mapped Prowl’s neck, no longer clinging to a single cable now in favor of testing as many variables as possible. He couldn’t sort the data out right now, but later.  _Definitely_  later.
> 
> Another forceful thrust. “Oh  _Primus_ , I am going to h-hhave  _so_  much fun with this…” One more, with perfectly-measured intensity. “You’ve -  _hhhah_  - you’ve  _done yourself in_ , Prowl…” 
> 
> What else could he dissect from the seeming chaos? Graph after graph sprung to life in his mind, plotting data in seismographic waves, tying equations together into  _something_  of a coherent web. What a sharp thrill, balancing the math with the motion, the integrals with interfacing - but  _frag_ , if only he could just -
> 
> Tarantulas snapped his hips forward in an even deeper thrust. “ _NnnghProwl I_ \- I’m  _dying_  to hardline with you right now, if - if I could just  _show_ you -”

Prowl

> “ _Heh._ ” His laugh was small and breathless. “I certainly hope I have.” He wouldn’t have given Tarantulas access to a part of the formulas that defined Prowl’s sexuality if he hadn’t intended for Tarantulas to use them to completely wreck him.
> 
> His eagerness abruptly ended with Tarantulas’s next statement.
> 
> Prowl’s emotional reaction to the word  _hardline_  could be measured in fractions of a second. One millisecond: a variable in the formula labeled 線 that had equaled zero no longer equaled zero; an entire subset of formulas opened up to calculate for 線; thirty-six seconds dropped off Prowl’s countdown. Seven milliseconds: a half dozen variables that had been positive were now negative; one variable labeled Ⓓ that had been steady at -18.75 plummeted to -2748.19; four minutes were added to the countdown. Eleven milliseconds; the countdown froze. It was no longer ticking down. Ninety-eight percent of the data Tarantulas had access to was now completely irrelevant to Prowl’s calculations. Instead,  _S_ ♥ began counting up. It wouldn’t take too much digging into Prowl’s formulae to figure out that if  _S_ ♥ increased for too long, the countdown would start to reverse.
> 
> All that before Prowl was even able to say, “ _No._ ” Have fun decoding all that, Tarantulas.
> 
> “Hardlining is not on the table.” As firm and unambiguous as he could make it. He pinged Scavenger: «Potential danger. Standby.» And queued up the same message to send to Soundwave if things started to go downhill. “If you want me to see—comm it. The way I’m comming you.”
> 
> He waited for Tarantulas’s reaction, completely still. Very conscious of the fact that Tarantulas had him pinned down at five points and still had five more limbs he could use to forcibly unwind Prowl’s cords if he wanted.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas hadn’t gotten deep enough into Prowl’s formulas to get to 線 or Ⓓ yet, but he didn’t have to know anything about them to see the excessively dramatic results of their influence. Or rather - the influence of his suggestion on those variables, and subsequently, on  _t_  and S♥.
> 
> Just -  _damnit_. Damnit. Damn it all.
> 
> Prowl’s “ _no_ ” rang loudly in Tarantulas’ head even as he choked back his own reaction. He wanted - he wanted  _so badly_  - but now he had to forcibly disentangle himself from the idea, because he had been confronted with his absolute least favorite word in the multiverse. He had to reign himself in.
> 
> Or at least, that’s what Prowl would want. A not-so-small part of Tarantulas simmered pitch-black deep under the surface and told him it didn’t _matter_ what Prowl wanted, Tarantulas _needed_ this, and all he had to do was surreptitiously slip one of his abdominal cables into one of Prowl’s conveniently placed interfacing ports, and -
> 
> _No_. Tarantulas couldn’t succumb to the urge. He  _couldn’t_  frag this up.
> 
> Tarantulas’ limbs were very much still pinning Prowl to the berth though, his spike still deep in Prowl’s valve. For a brief second his paw clutched tighter around Prowl’s wrists - but only so he could better pull back to look Prowl in the optics.
> 
> “I - it was only - oh  _Prowl_ , it’s just - comming’s just  _not the same_ , you know what I mean.” The growl in his voice had evaporated entirely, replaced with a desperate sort of passion. “But if -  _here_ -”
> 
> As if to prove his dedication to his word, Tarantulas commed Prowl what he had, disparate graphs and hypotheses hurriedly webbed together with silken thread.

Prowl

> Tarantulas’s grip on Prowl tightened; and Ⓓ plummeted further, -3345.79. No. No. No. He didn’t struggle, didn’t even fidget, but beneath the roar of his vents and fans his weapons systems began quietly humming. Please don’t let him need them.
> 
> But then Tarantulas pulled back to look at him. What was he saying? Was he griping about not getting what he wanted, or explaining why he was going to take it anyway? “I know,” Prowl said; “I know it’s not the same. But…”
> 
> But then Tarantulas commed him. Prowl fell silent. All the graphs, the data were nonsense. He could interpret the numbers but he couldn’t derive any subjective meaning from them. Was that Tarantulas’s way of showing why comms were inadequate, or— “Are you agreeing to not?”

Tarantulas

> Even though Tarantulas couldn’t quite detect the sound of Prowl’s weapons systems onlining, he could still  _feel_  the metaphorical ground slipping out from underneath him. Scrambling for stability, Tarantulas pulled away from Prowl even more, letting go of Prowl’s wrists to prop himself up instead.
> 
> “I - of course, I-I won’t press the matter further, it was merely an _offer_ , a heat-of-the-moment suggestion.” And now also a suppressed desire crawling under his plating - but he had to ignore it, shove it back deep down where it’d come from. “I didn’t anticipate it being - but, of course, I agree -  _no hardlining_.” He gave a weak, nervous laugh. “Besides, I - I think it’s fair to say we’ve got  _quite_ enough on our hands at the moment otherwise.”
> 
> Please oh please, let that be enough to get them back on the right track. He’d had Prowl  _so close_ , if he could just pull  _S_ ♥ back down and get the countdown running again…

Prowl

> Tarantulas’s release of his wrists felt like heavy chains dropping off his mind. Ⓓ slungshot from -3345.79 up to 412.4 before stabilizing at -502.11. Prowl lowered his arms, lacing his fingers in the fur on the front of Tarantulas’s pauldrons.
> 
> “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was chiding himself for thanking Tarantulas—he shouldn’t have to express gratitude to Tarantulas for agreeing not to do something in the berth that Prowl made very clear he did not want to do, it implied that respecting Prowl’s boundaries was going above and beyond his basic sexual obligations therefore it was optional, and that was a dangerous precedent to set. But he  _was_  grateful. Not grateful, no—relieved.
> 
> “Give me a second,” Prowl said. “Just… half a minute. I need a break.”

Tarantulas

> Letting go of Prowl’s wrists made  _that_  much of a difference? Tarantulas was vaguely discomfited by that, but Prowl’s fingers in his fur swept the thought away.
> 
> A break? “Oh - yes, yes of course - do you need - ?” Tarantulas shifted back, pulling out from Prowl’s valve as carefully as he could, given the ridges on his spike. Then he went as if to sit on his knees, his spider limbs following and letting Prowl’s doors up as well. Tarantulas wasn’t entirely sure what a break would entail, but if it was what Prowl needed in order to keep going, he’d give him whatever he needed.
> 
> In the meantime, Tarantulas would work on mentally bringing his charge down a little. Despite the sudden tension and confusion, he was  _undeniably_ still aroused, and he’d take any chance he could get to regain control over himself.

Prowl

> “No, that's—” That’s fine, he’d been going to say; he didn’t need to separate, just to hold still for a moment. But then Tarantulas went ahead and did, so, the point was moot.
> 
> He sat up, and turned off the feed to his timer and its calculations. All that was a part of the scene that was now on hold, he didn’t need to keep sharing it. But he kept his servos laced in Tarantulas’s fur.
> 
> With a ping, he canceled Scavenger’s stand-by alert. Everything was fine.

Tarantulas

> The sudden withdrawal of Prowl’s timer and calculations left Tarantulas strangely disoriented, as if one of his arms had been lopped off. Ah, but it didn’t much matter - he’d ask for it back when it became relevant.
> 
> Which would be soon. Sort of. Kind of. Staying well within reach of Prowl’s handhold, Tarantulas waited not-so-patiently for the thirty seconds to pass. Sitting there on his knees between Prowl’s legs, Tarantulas shifted restlessly. Paws smoothed down the fur on his thighs, spider legs rotated at the joints on his back, still-golden visor flickered occasionally as he constantly reoriented his focus. Just - don’t look at Prowl. Anything but Prowl. The temptation to engage again would be far too strong.

Prowl

> In contrast, Prowl barely looked  _away_  from Tarantulas. The way his body shifted, his many legs twisted and bent, his paws stroked over his own fur. A couple times he glanced away—to the gap between their arrays, to the holo cube still on the berth. But he always looked back at Tarantulas, studying him. He was reminding himself why he was here, why he  _wanted_  this. Otherwise the temptation to call it a day would be far too strong.
> 
> Thirty-two seconds. “… All right.” He scooted forward again, pressing his pelvis against Tarantulas's—so their heated arrays were pressed together but not quite properly engaged. Tarantulas could do the rest himself. “I’m ready.”

Tarantulas

> Just as soon as Prowl scooted forward again, Tarantulas met him halfway, leaning over him again to match up their hips - then came a slight stretch and a little shudder as excess charge leapt from his array to Prowl’s. Spider limbs traced the lines of Prowl’s doors, ready to pin him down again.
> 
> Finally, Tarantulas’ gaze returned to Prowl’s face. “You’re - you’re certain?” 
> 
> Once he received anything resembling a yes, he rolled his hips forward again and buried himself deep in Prowl’s valve - forceful, but a little strained this time, all too eager to return to their previous pace. He’d keep himself reined in until Prowl indicated otherwise, a bit apprehensive about how tenuous things were.
> 
> Would reassuring Prowl help? A nuzzle to the side of his helm, perhaps, with a paw hooking its claws into some shoulder kibble?

Prowl

> The fact that Tarantulas bothered to check and make sure Prowl was all right—two little words—did far more to reassure Prowl than any nuzzles or caresses ever would. A nod. “I’m certain.” He wrapped his arms over Tarantulas’s shoulders and braced himself.
> 
> “ _Mmh._ ” Sparks crackled deep into his array, and he was immediately glad he’d dismissed his thoughts of stopping. “ _Definitely_  certain.” He clutched tightly at Tarantulas’s neck armor with one hand and leaned back on the other, adjusting to give Tarantulas a better angle. “Okay. Good?”

Tarantulas

> Now  _that_  was the kind of enthusiasm Tarantulas had been hoping to hear. A low purr resonated between their chests. “ _Vvvery_.”
> 
> The word was punctuated by his free paw grasping Prowl’s hip and pulling him in, their arrays grinding against each other.  _Slag_ , but that was good. Especially with the leverage he had now, the angle, the ridges catching on the cables as he reestablished their earlier rhythm…
> 
> Looked like Tarantulas wouldn’t be pinning Prowl anymore though, not with both their sets of servos occupied elsewhere and with them positioned like they were. Those spider limbs on Prowl’s doors would simply continue teasing the weather stripping and other lines - just playing it safe for now, it seemed.
> 
> “You - you oughtn’t feed me your calculations if you desire not to… but I’ll still be hanging on your every countdown update, hyeheh.”

Prowl

> Prowl idly wondered what part of Tarantulas was producing that purr. Maybe he’d poke around in Tarantulas’s blueprints later, when he had the processor space to spare for it.
> 
> “Timer’s no—” oh this angle was  _tight,_  Prowl squeezed his thighs around Tarantulas’s waist, “nh-not reliable right now. Too large margin of error.” If he arched his back and rolled his hips just right, he could grind his spike against Tarantulas’s abdomen. “I'll—update you when I have ah—fifteen second margin of error.”
> 
> No more calculations, though. Not right now. Part of him was already haunted by the possibility that he’d shown Tarantulas too much, and he didn’t want to give that part of him any more power to distract him from Tarantulas’s body.

Tarantulas

> “Acceptable,” Tarantulas hummed. “I’d -  _hahh_ \- r-reciprocate, but trying to build a formula from scratch right now -  _far_ too distracting.”
> 
> He definitely noticed the added sensation of Prowl’s spike against his abdomen - ah, but he could certainly help facilitate that, with a slight flare of plating and a shift of that paw on Prowl’s hips to pull him closer. Anything, anything he could do to ramp up the charge.
> 
> “Would you still prefer -  _hhharder_?” A quick, deep thrust, followed by plenty more, should Prowl give the word. Or, well, a moan would work for confirmation too - it’d match the tone of Tarantulas’ own, low against the cables of Prowl’s neck as he nipped and tugged there intermittently. 

Prowl

> “ _Heh_. It took me millennia of data analysis. W-wouldn’t expect that right now.” What if Tarantulas figured it out faster, though? Oh, genius that he was—
> 
> “Y-yes! Yes.”  _Absolutely_  harder—and Prowl rocked against Tarantulas in turn, grateful both for the added thrust and for Tarantulas’s help in increasing the friction on his spike. The numbers locked in place, margin of error shrinking; the timer started up again. Two minutes, eight seconds. “Just—just like that.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’ visor narrowed in what could only be called a smirk, although Prowl wouldn’t be able to see. Perfect - the countdown was back up, ready to be hewn down again digit by digit.
> 
> So, harder it was - and Tarantulas was more than happy to comply. It was a tad bit trickier to manage now that he was no longer pinning Prowl to the berth, but Tarantulas did his best not to scrape up Prowl’s doors  _too_ much. (He wasn’t exactly sure whether that was a type of pain Prowl was into… but they could chat about that another time.)
> 
> For now, he’d immerse himself in the moment - a moment caught in coiled cords and swirling in a haze of rising temperature and charge. It was strangely straightforward, considering all the mods and toys Tarantulas could have been using, but the straightforwardness didn’t detract from the experience. Forcefully fragging Prowl into the berth was  _definitely_  an A+ experience in Tarantulas’ book.
> 
> Every so often he’d lean in as close as he could to stutter, murmur, or moan in Prowl’s audial - he could never quite keep his vocalizer offline, in one way or another. Hopefully Prowl wouldn’t mind though; over time he’d get to hear the shift from amorous to darkly desperate, that hint of a growl coming back into Tarantulas’ vocals.

Prowl

> Prowl’s doors would survive. He tilted them out to avoid scraping on the berth too much—and to give Tarantulas a wider target to latch onto.
> 
> First times are always straightforward. The toys and tricks would come in later, once they’d gotten used to each other’s bodies. And between the steadily increasing tiny jolts of pleasure Tarantulas was sending through Prowl and the increasingly threatening rumble in Tarantulas’s voice, Prowl would say they were both succeeding admirably at that. They fell into sync together so effortlessly.
> 
> Less than a minute. Prowl tightened his legs behind Tarantulas’s back and pulled his feet together, tugging Tarantulas closer, preparing himself for his overload.

Tarantulas

> Effortlessly in sync, indeed. Tarantulas had always felt an inescapable pull toward Prowl’s mind, his body, his everything - what was this but a manifestation of that feeling? It was obscenely magnetic, and Tarantulas wouldn’t have it any other way.
> 
> It was delicious how Prowl’s wheels felt against his fur and back plating as they moved together, and it contrasted  _so_ well with the sharp pleasure building in Tarantulas’ array. Please, pull him in more, Prowl - Tarantulas would only grind his spike deeper, maybe flare the plating on the spike itself, now purposefully making it scrape and drag even more on the cords of Prowl’s valve every time he pulled away.
> 
> “Do let me know, _h-hyeh_ … if it’s -  _hhhn_  -  _too much to handle_.”
> 
> It was hard to tell if Tarantulas was being considerate or if his tone was darkly teasing - probably a bit of both - but he sincerely hoped Prowl wouldn’t actually be overwhelmed. It felt  _so slagging good_ … He shuddered and cursed into Prowl’s neck as his next thrust pushed them up the berth a few inches - then gave a low hiss as his spike raked sparks from every well-lubed coil of Prowl’s valve.
> 
> The seconds kept ticking down, and Tarantulas savored every one of them, his paws grasping Prowl’s frame, his claws in his seams, his mandibles catching on the cables of Prowl’s exposed neck. Prowl was going to overload soon, and it was going to be Tarantulas who’d make him come undone.  _Finally_ , finally.

Prowl

> Magnetic. Yes. That was the word for it. It was no great confession to admit that Tarantulas attracted him—always pulling him in, pulling him closer. Even when Tarantulas was at his most repulsive there was that small part of him that tugged Prowl in closer. It was terrifying, when he tried to resist and found it pulling him in closer anyway.
> 
> But there was no need to resist now.
> 
> His breathing had been reduced to gasps and pants, lips parted and vocalizer kept on to guarantee that Tarantulas heard every single sound—the grunt as Tarantulas thrust in harder, the honest-to-god moan as he tortuously pulled back out.
> 
> His optics were burning nearly white when he met Tarantulas’s gaze. “ _Hahh._  Nowhere close.” After that, he probably deserved the thrust that drove him up the berth.
> 
> The hand that had been holding him up slipped out from underneath him; he crashed down on his back; his timer skipped five seconds (14, 13, 12) and he latched his legs tighter around Tarantulas’s slender waist. “Tara—  _fmmh…_ ” No—mouth open, vocalizer on. Tarantulas wanted to hear noise.
> 
> 3, 2, 1—lightning flashed between their arrays. Crackling through the gaps in their armor, up their abdomens and down their inner thighs. Prowl lost his grip on Tarantulas’s neck as his back arched in ecstasy. He clutched at the fur on Tarantulas’s chest as his hips rolled against Tarantulas’s.
> 
> The cry he let out was wordless, breathless, nearly voiceless. It wouldn’t even carry as far as the doorway.
> 
> But Tarantulas would hear it.

Tarantulas

> Bless Prowl for keeping his vocalizer on like that - Tarantulas drank in every sound, ever-thirsty for evidence of Prowl’s pleasure. And oh, what a lovely time it sounded like Prowl was having…
> 
> Then overload snapped and seared through Prowl’s circuits, spilling over into Tarantulas as well.  _Scrap_  - there was nothing he could do to stop it triggering his own overload two short thrusts later - although, really, was there any reason why he’d  _want_  to prevent it? Let the ecstasy arch Prowl’s back and send tremors through Tarantulas’ frame. They’d share that moment of unadulterated bliss, without argument, without drama, without a fuss - just the two of them flooded with sizzling excess charge.
> 
> Once it all died down, Tarantulas gave a final teasing thrust and left himself embedded deep in Prowl’s valve; no reason to rush out, unless Prowl indicated otherwise, of course. Sprawling across Prowl’s frame, Tarantulas clutched him tightly and shivered with tiny aftershocks, each jolt paired with a low whisper of Prowl’s name.
> 
> Mmmnnhh. Nope. Not moving. Not letting go. Prowl was  _his_  now.

Prowl

> It took a moment for Prowl’s ability to register outside shapes to return; a moment longer for his ability to comprehend basic words, and he discovered Tarantulas was whispering his name. Prowl mumbled something incoherent.
> 
> Wow. For a first time, that was… Pretty good.  _Very_  good. He relaxed, wiggling his arms out from under Tarantulas’s chest to drape them over his back. He pinged Soundwave an update. «Finished. Commencing aftercare,» and then turned off his optics.
> 
> The emergency line to Chimera was staying on, though. Just in case.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s incoherent mumbling earned him a weak giggle and a nuzzle from Tarantulas. So he’d worked him up into an overload strong enough to stall his processor, then?  _Wonderful_.
> 
> The comm to Soundwave proved a little hasty, though. “Don’t you go falling asleep on me,” Tarantulas murmured, running a paw slowly up and down Prowl’s side. In the next pass, his claws scraped along a seam. “…I’m not  _done_ with you just yet.”

Prowl

> … Scrap. Prowl had almost forgotten. Mesothulas had the stamina of a perpetual motion machine. Tarantulas had probably somehow  _improved_  on that. He quickly pinged a redaction to Soundwave.
> 
> “My limit’s three,” Prowl said firmly. (As firmly as he could manage.) “And I’ll need a ten minute break after the second one.”
> 
> With that said, though, he tightened his grip over Tarantulas’s shoulders, and wrapped one hand around a spider leg, to run his thumb along the border between metal and flesh.
> 
> “Ready.”

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas didn’t have anywhere near infinite stamina, but for Prowl - well. He was a  _bit_  of a game-changer, to say the least.
> 
> Tarantulas gave another small laugh against Prowl’s neck. “ _Only_  three…? Very well. I’ll - hyeh, I’ll assure  _quality_ over quantity, then.”
> 
> Hopefully Scavenger’s comfortable - they might be a little while.

 

* * *

 

Prowl

> As it turned out, Prowl did not quite have the stamina for three. Really, he had the stamina for two and a half. By the end of three, he was about ready to sleep for four days.
> 
> (And Scavenger was about ready to murder Tarantulas.)
> 
> It took him a moment to recover his coordination; the more overloads in a short period of time, the more discombobulating they got. He hadn’t even got his optics back on yet. Once he was sure he could get his arms to move in the right direction, he reached up to gently push Tarantulas off him and to the side. His vents were still at top speed, he need a break from the fur.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas certainly didn’t mind throwing Prowl for a loop every time he tripped an overload - not only did it show him how fantastically well he was doing, it was also just plain  _cute_. Prowl wasn’t  _cute_  very often.
> 
> And Tarantulas? Tarantulas wasn’t  _warm_  very often, not like this. The heated air from Prowl’s vents was the perfect post-overload caress… but regretfully he obeyed Prowl’s wishes and pulled back anyway, slipping off Prowl’s spike and rolling onto his side. ( _Oh_. Primus. That was - quite a mess. He’d worry about cleaning up later, cuddling took precedence.)
> 
> A purr as he arranged himself as close as possible without blocking ventilation. “I… hyeh…  _suppose_  I’ll let you be, now… You look so - so -” …Well, apparently however Prowl looked could only be expressed by a mandibled nuzzle.

Prowl

> He turned on an optic long enough to see where Tarantulas was positioned, slide an arm under him, and tug him a little bit closer. He could afford to have one small vent blocked. He turned his optic back off.
> 
> “Mm.” He accepted the nuzzle with grace and dignity. “Do I?” He tried to think of something to tell Tarantulas in return—something about how he’d looked from below, his beautiful thighs straddling Prowl’s hips as he rode him, his whole body animated by manic electric energy, the curves and organic planes of his body mesmerizing in their alien fluidity, how his voice sounded as it vacillated between reverence, seduction, and hunger—Tarantulas was bewitching. In some ways that not even Mesothulas had been.
> 
> None of those were words he could say to Tarantulas. So instead he turned his head to blindly give Tarantulas a kiss—it landed on his shoulder ( _pbbbt,_  fur)—and then flopped back.
> 
> A ping to Soundwave: «Actually finished this time.»

Tarantulas

> If Prowl thought Tarantulas was bewitching, then he in turn found Prowl captivating, a target  _well_ worth casting a spell upon. That was what he’d been trying to capture in words - just how much he adored Prowl from the 15° point of his chevron to the tessellated tread of the tires on his pedes. That, and his wickedly sharp mind, both when it was caught up in the passion of interface as well as drowned in its heady aftermath.
> 
> Tarantulas gave a small laugh at Prowl’s fur-kiss and gladly let him pull him in. “You  _know_  what I mean… My processor’s a bit fried at the moment.” Another nuzzle and a few nibbles to Prowl’s shoulder kibble; he might indeed be fried, but that didn’t take the edge off his perpetual restlessness.
> 
> Out of the corner of his visor, Tarantulas spied the hologram of the gun hovering somewhere off the edge of the berth. “The holo cube… it’s still on, hyeh.” Had they knocked it onto the floor at some point? He couldn’t remember, but it hardly mattered.

Prowl

> Did Prowl know what Tarantulas meant? His processor was fried, too.
> 
> His shoulder tires twitched as Tarantulas nibbled on the kibble over them. “Is it?” He didn’t turn his optics on to look at the cube. “You can get it. ’M not moving.”

Tarantulas

> “You’re really  _that_  exhausted?” That earned Prowl a gentle caress across his bumper. “I suppose I ought to be proud of myself, then. Not that  _I’m_  moving either…”
> 
> Lazily Tarantulas used his free arm to shoot silk at where he guessed the holo cube was, dragging it up onto the berth with them so he could turn it off. A tiny click - and at the same time, Tarantulas’ mind switched back on again.
> 
> “ _Gallium nitride_ … why did they use  _that_  in a nucleon charge blaster…? A superconductor - hardness 12±2 GPa, which really isn’t…”

Prowl

> A grunt. “I  _could_  move. I don’t  _want_  to.” Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t exhausted; he just wanted to make sure Tarantulas understood exactly what level of exhausted he was.
> 
> When Tarantulas started babbling about gallium nitride, Prowl shoved a hand over his mandibles. “Shh. No. Don’t even think about it. Three’s my limit. Go for four and you’ll kill me.”

Tarantulas

> The face-shove did absolutely nothing to physically shut Tarantulas up, but he got the gist, spluttering off into quiet snickers. If Prowl held his hand there long enough, his fingers might get a few nips too.
> 
> “But  _Prowl_ , you can’t just give me new data and expect me not to process it a little. Just a  _little_ … Besides, there’s the whole rest of the gun’s mechanics to get through. We’ll  _never_  get around to all of it at this rate.” Hopefully Tarantulas’ tone was mock-playful enough not to earn him some more shushing.

Prowl

> It  _did_  earn him more shushing, but it was insincere and half-hearted, “ _Shhh shh shh._  Process it next time. I can’t take any more tonight.” He accepted the nips, even tapping at the points of Tarantulas’s mandibles with his fingertips to encourage them.

Tarantulas

> _Next time_ , huh? The prospect of there actually being a next time was a wonderful thing to contemplate.
> 
> Encouraged as he was, Tarantulas kept gently nibbling on Prowl’s fingers as he curled in close, a leg moving to rest on top of Prowl’s. “It’s not  _my_  fault you get turned on by talking about it. Not that I mind, of course.” A little purr. “I’m certainly satisfied with the results.”

Prowl

> “Not your fault? And all this time I thought you were doing it on purpose.” A half joke. He was fully aware that Tarantulas would continue to be a brilliant scientist completely regardless of how attractive Prowl found that—but sometimes he wondered.
> 
> The purr was answered with a contented rumble that was just loud enough to hear over his vents. “Mhmm.”

Tarantulas

> “Oh, that’s not to say I’m  _not_  taking advantage of a deliciously convenient set of preexisting circumstances…” In other words, yes, Tarantulas was well aware of his inherent brilliance, and no, he certainly wasn’t against utilizing it in more than just academic situations.

Prowl

> "Mm. If you'd tried to deny THAT, then I'd have to ask you what exactly you think you were doing for the past hour and a half."
> 
> A groan from the berthroom doorway. "You already got off, can't ya stop flirting already?"
> 
> "Absolutely not."

Tarantulas

> Ugh. Scavenger, _really_...
> 
> Tarantulas gave a particularly sharp nip to one of Prowl's fingers, then spoke up just a tad louder. "...You know, _you_ said three, but that doesn't preclude _me_ from getting up to anything else, now does it?"

Prowl

> Voice similarly raised, Prowl said, "No, I suppose not. There's no reason you should go unsatisfied just because my stamina gave out before yours."
> 
> A noise of frustration from the door.
> 
> Prowl lowered his voice again. "But if you DO actually get up to anything else, it's going to be while I sleep. Just, keep it around me instead of on or in me." He was almost completely positive Tarantulas had been joking, but sometimes jokes could also be true.

Tarantulas

> Scavenger's frustration only fueled Tarantulas' subsequent snickering.
> 
> Back to Prowl, though. "Duly noted." Because he HAD been joking, but one never knew, did they?
> 
> "...Will you be sleeping your full fourteen hours, then?" The question had an obvious _And will I be allowed to stay?_ tacked on to the end.

Prowl

> "Mm, probably not. The others will be back in a few hours, I'll probably go join them when they sleep." He was willing to nap with Tarantulas here—so long as Scavenger was monitoring—but a full night's sleep farther than his trust could stretch.

Tarantulas

> Ah, well that was pretty conclusive. Both of them knew Tarantulas was hardly likely to come sleep with Prowl alongside the Constructicons.
> 
> Another nuzzle, and a wistful sigh. "Very well. I'm allowed to stay until then, yes?"

Prowl

> Prowl nuzzled Tarantulas back. "As long as you keep behaving yourself." In another context, that could have sounded like a warning: behave yourself, or else. But now Prowl was sleepy and, from his perspective, he was trying to just say yes, Tarantulas could stay.
> 
> Scavenger finally stopped lurking in the doorway. He trudged into the room, headed to the berth across from Prowl's and Tarantulas's, and sat. Prowl had briefed Scavenger on this before Tarantulas arrived. If Tarantulas stayed after they were done—if Prowl was going to be next to Tarantulas while he was unconscious—Scavenger was to move closer to monitor.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had been about to say something about being "naughty," but caught himself - probably best not to tease when it could be grossly misinterpreted. See? He was learning.
> 
> Instead: "But of couse. Will you be comfortable recharging like this? ...And does he _really_ have to be _right there_?"

Prowl

> "Boss says I gotta be right here," Scavenger grumbled.
> 
> "Yes," Prowl said. "He does."

Tarantulas

> A low whine, but Tarantulas gave in and proceeded to make himself even more comfortable. "As you wish."

Prowl

> Belatedly, Prowl realized Tarantulas had asked another question. "...Comfortable enough." Sleeping on his side wasn't his preference, but... he could pull Tarantulas closer like this. He'd make an exception.

Tarantulas

> Ah, an exception. Of course. Prowl _did_ have a habit of making exceptions for Tarantulas.
> 
> Not that Tarantulas would complain about it in the least, though. Even with Scavenger there, even knowing he'd only get a few hours more with Prowl, Tarantulas was still elated with the situation. He and Prowl had just _interfaced_ for Primus' sake, and now they were cuddling and would likely fall asleep curled close together.
> 
> "Good to hear." Another nuzzle, probably the last one he'd manage to sneak in before they passed out.

Prowl

> And Tarantulas had better appreciate it.
> 
> "Mm." He nuzzled Tarantulas back, then curled down slightly, chevron pressed to Tarantulas's chest. He withdrew the hand that he'd offered up for nibbles, draped it over Tarantulas's waist, and fell asleep as well.


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small sample of innuendo, wordplay, and double entendres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RP inbox meme: "Tell me how you'd fuck me, anonymously or not." Prowl just _went_ for it.
> 
> Oh, yeah. That means this'll be lowkey **Mature**.

Prowl

> «You already know how.»

Tarantulas

> _Oh Primus_. Just - whew. Give him a second.
> 
> «Hyeh, false. Just because we’ve interfaced once doesn’t mean I necessarily know how you’d  _want_  to in the future.»

Prowl

> Long pause.
> 
> Attempt to be smooth: backfired.
> 
> «… I can do things with my cables without plugging them in.»
> 
> Nice recovery.

Tarantulas

> «Oh  _really_. What sort of things? I’d speculate, but I’d really rather hear it in your own words.»

Prowl

> «Wrap them around your spike—or wherever you want them. Electrostimulation.»
> 
> Prowl’s words are rather to the point.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas did his best to disguise a tiny choked noise in a purr.
> 
> «Naturally. I take it you can control the voltage, then…?»

Prowl

> «Yes. Well—inasmuch as I can control anything, mid-interface. There’s a bit of variability.»

Tarantulas

> «That's -» Fantastic. Tantalizing. Electrifying. «- _certainly_ worth looking into experimenting with. Especially given I have silk of differing conductivities, now that I think about it...»

Prowl

> A long moment of silence. «... And. I suppose those are. Probably very good for, er. Tying things up.»
> 
> And suddenly his words are rather a bit less to the point.

Tarantulas

> «Oh, I'd imagine so.» There's definitely a smirk in that voice. «Did you have anything particular in mind, hm?»

Prowl

> An even longer pause. «...... I should think it's self-explanatory.»

Tarantulas

> «You can't really blame me for wanting to clarify the details, can you? " _Tying things up_ "? I've never heard you refer to yourself as a " _thing_ " before, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «Ah. Yes. Well.» Another pause. «... First time for everything.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh dear, you sound so _coy_ all of a sudden.» Tarantulas's smirk was even louder now. «There’s really nothing to be embarrassed about, it's just a little softcore bondage. I’m certainly not one to judge, and I’d be _more_ than willing to indulge you.»

Prowl

> «I see. ... Good.» A shorter pause. «In that case. At some point, I—would enjoy being tied up and partially immobilized.»

Tarantulas

> «That could _certainly_ be arranged.» A purr.

Prowl

> «Hmm. Someday, perhaps.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, don’t leave me _hanging_ like this, Prowl…»

Prowl

> «Pft. We’ll call it a stretch goal.»

Tarantulas

> A sad noise. «I do understand - but wouldn’t you prefer the situation be wrapped up sooner rather than later…?»
> 
> The comm was hastily followed by an adjectival ping:  **#arch**

Prowl

> … Oh? Now Tarantulas was tagging his tone? Had he gotten that from Soundwave? Sure, Prowl had practically  _begged_  him to do so, but he’d asked so many times without results that he’d given up on the hope that Tarantulas  _would_. Surely there had been some other intervention?
> 
> He was so distracted by the tag that it took him a moment to recognize the pun. He snorted. «I don’t know. It sounds like a rather sticky situation.»
> 
> A pause. «Thank you for identifying your intended tone.» Unsaid:  _finally_.

Tarantulas

> Nope, no intervention. Tarantulas had gone in for the pun, and almost too late had realized that his language could have been interpreted as undesirably conniving. Figures that the one thing that finally made him tag his humor was talking about  _interfacing_.
> 
> «We’re in a little bit of a bind then, it seems - although I’m loath to drop this thread of discussion…» A pause to match Prowl’s. «…and, hyeh. Yes, that. I’m glad it translated well.»

Prowl

> «Then I suppose we're a bit... The conversation's rather... hm.» Prowl fell silent. «... I can't think of another pun. Something with being entangled or tied up, but I can't make it work.»

Tarantulas

> «It sounds as if your _tongue_ is tied, not this conversation.» A little snickering. «Which, by the way, our tongues - plural - ought not be _tied_ , but _entangled_ , if you have time at the moment.»
> 
> Tarantulas: 2. Prowl: 0. 

Prowl

> «Hah.» Is it a loss if Prowl enjoyed it? «Clearly my verbal abilities aren't up to par tonight. I probably _would_ be better off letting it drop and practicing a different oral skill.»
> 
> Tarantulas: 2. Prowl: 1/2. He's earned that much.
> 
> «... I'm actually not that good with tongues, though. I mean, as long as they don't go—»

Tarantulas

> **Bwwrrrrmp** - **bwwrrrrmp** - **bwwrrrr** -
> 
> ...Damnit. Tarantulas shut off the alarm, but there was no way Prowl hadn't heard it over comms. It wasn't actually _that_ important of an alarm, but it probably sounded pretty dire to the scientifically-untrained audial.
> 
> «I-ignore that, hyeh - it's nothing, really. Now, what was it you were saying...?»

Prowl

> He certainly had heard it, and immediately shut up. For a second, Prowl thought _Tarantulas_ was bwrrmping at him.
> 
> «No. Hold on, what was that? Was that an alarm?»

Tarantulas

> «Not so much an _alarm_ as it was a - a notification.» That was close enough to the truth that it didn't count as lying, right? Because Tarantulas just _really_ wanted to make out with Prowl right now, and a mere class-E alarm wasn't about to stop him.

Prowl

> «Alarms are loud notifications. That was a notification, and it was loud. What was it for?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn't lie, and if he declined to answer he'd just be feeding Prowl's suspicions. Ugh.
> 
> «...Mmmechanical failure. But I _swear_ nothing will happen if I'm absent for an hour or so.»

Prowl

> Prowl considered that.
> 
> He really, really did.
> 
> «... What kind of mechanical failure.»

Tarantulas

> «I - don't actually know, I'll have to go check to find out.» A moment's pained deliberation, then a frustrated sigh. «I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. Come over, that is.» A faint sound of a different alarm in the distance, accompanied by some indistinct cursing.

Prowl

> Prowl sighed quietly. «Go—go deal with the alarms. We can pick this up again when you're not all... tied up.»
> 
> Prowl: 1 and 1/2.

Tarantulas

> Pfft. Trust Prowl to finally pull a pun at the least opportune moment. Unfortunately, all he got was some snickering and a goodbye ping as Tarantulas hung up - probably not the best sign.

Prowl

> No. It wasn't a very good sign at all.
> 
> Well. Prowl supposed he was just going to worry until Tarantulas thought to call him back.
> 
> ... That probably wasn't going to be for a while, was it.

Tarantulas

> Nope, sorry, Prowl. This was definitely a step up from straight-up dropping the line without warning, but... yep. It'd be a while.

Prowl

> Then he will sit here consumed with lust (and concern) for the rest of the evening.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl gets reticent; Tarantulas gets nerdy; Hook gets a chore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A long time ago Tarantulas' blog had featured [this post](http://tarantulacuties.tumblr.com/post/156988923112/this-is-a-reminder-tell-your-spiders-that-they), and it came up yet again, prompting this thread.

Prowl

> Right. Tarantulas is soliciting compliments. Better—better do something about that. Gotta keep Tarantulas's self-esteem up.
> 
> «...»
> 
> That was good. Good job, Prowl.

Tarantulas

> …Prowl commed, said nothing, and hung up?
> 
> Activate panic mode.
> 
> « _Prowl_? Prowl - are you alright?»

Prowl

> Scrap.
> 
> «Yes, fine, sorry. I just—forgot why I called.» Stupid. Tarantulas wasn’t going to buy that. Prowl needed to just block [this dumb post](http://tarantulacuties.tumblr.com/post/156988923112/this-is-a-reminder-tell-your-spiders-that-they), it was trouble every time Prowl saw it.

Tarantulas

> The panic faded as quickly as it’d come on, leaving Tarantulas squinting suspiciously at the blank wall in front of him. 
> 
> «…That’s false. What is it  _actually_ , Prowl?»

Prowl

> Ta _ran_ tulas why do you have to  _call him out_  like that.
> 
> «… It'sss llless like I forgot and more like I. Sort of. Neglected to figure it out before I called. I shouldn’t have said I forgot. That was untrue. I panicked.»

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to process that.
> 
> «…So you commed me because you  _wanted_  to comm me but you didn’t know why? Or - no, you didn’t know what to  _say_. You probably do know why. … _Why_?»

Prowl

> «Sssomething like that. Doesn’t matter. Didn’t figure out anything to say. I should go now.»

Tarantulas

> «Nonono - unless you really  _have_  to go, but otherwise - now that I’ve got you on the line I’d really rather keep you here.»

Prowl

> Awkward pause.
> 
> «… All right.»

Tarantulas

> A pleased noise from Tarantulas. « _Good_ , because I’ve been suffering from a terrible case of ennui this afternoon. How are you, aside from being inscrutably flustered?»

Prowl

> «I’m  _not_  fl— Fine. I’m fine. How are  _you_.» Idiot, Tarantulas just told you how he is. «Aside from being stricken with ennui.»

Tarantulas

> Vague background noises of puttering and tinkering. «Hyeheh… I’m fine as well, I suppose. Stalled on a few projects and a bit restless, but I’m speaking with rather agreeable company at the moment, so that about evens it out.»

Prowl

> «Who?» Give him a second. «… Disregard that question.» And don’t let him try to claim again that he isn’t inscrutably flustered. «What projects? Any I’m familiar with?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t help but giggle. Prowl, oh Prowl. 
> 
> «Likely, yes, but I’d rather not talk about  _work_ -work right now. Too much rehashing makes my processor go numb.» A thoughtful hum. «Have I told you about any of my transgenics though?»

Prowl

> A pause. «… If you have, it wasn’t by that word. What “transgenics”?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas made a happy noise. «I can’t  _believe_  I haven’t mentioned them before. They’re my pride and joy, especially my transgenic T’s, my lovely Theraphosid namesakes. I’ve an expansive collection of organic organisms I utilize for projects, and most of them are transgenic - that is to say, I’ve altered their base genomes in one way or another. And before you ask,  _yes_ , genetically modifying organisms is a  _highly_  common practice on Earth and elsewhere for achieving specific phenotypic effects for study; it’s not simply another ‘mad science’ scheme.»

Prowl

> Couldn’t it be a highly common practice  _and_  mad science? Half of the nonsense humans came up with on the regular was blatant mad science.
> 
> «So you mess with the, uh—the coding in organics that helps their reproductive systems build new units?» Prowl supposed Tarantulas  _would_  have, wouldn’t he—there was undoubtedly some of that involved in Tarantulas’s own body, to get the flesh to behave properly. «To what ends?»

Tarantulas

> «…I _think_ you’re mostly right, but I can’t tell based on your word choice. Technicalities. But in any case - yes, I manipulate the assembly programming for generation of new organisms, toward the ends of producing different phenotypical results. I… hmm. There’s no typical example for me to give… unless we’re speaking of humans, who apparently can’t get nearly enough of swapping around different species’ _colorations_.» Definitely a trace of disdain in his voice there, but also a giggle.

Prowl

> Dubiously, Prowl repeated, «Phenotypical.» What's that. «So, humans use this... programming manipulation, to change the colors of future generations? How very...» Frivolous? Petty? Gleefully wasteful? «... _human_ of them.»

Tarantulas

> «To be fair, they haven’t developed the technology much yet, so they’re only just scraping the surface of what genetic manipulation is capable of. But - it doesn’t have much to do with reproductive systems and generational passage, actually - genetic material is, for the most part, manipulated on a single-organism level at a very early stage in development. Give me a single organic ovum and I can alter its genome sufficiently to change whether the resulting organism has eight eyes or none at all, and where on its body they might grow - that sort of thing, you know.»

Prowl

> «... And is that the sort of thing you're doing? Altering their eye quantities and locations?»

Tarantulas

> «Pffteheh, nono, that’s newbuild’s play. Besides, what use would that be? No, lately I’ve been using T’s for toying with silk properties, and plenty of other species serve as model organisms for disease models and general study. There’s really no end to the possibilities.»

Prowl

> «Oh? Does seeing how organics pass over diseases tell us something about how ours work, or...?»

Tarantulas

> «While I _do_ employ communicable diseases, it’s rarely ever about the transmission - there’s not too much mystery left in that sort of thing, since computer models suffice more often than not. No, it’s about learning about the diseases themselves and what they tell us about the organisms in turn. Mind you, not _everything_ has to link back to Cybertronian biology. There’s always research for the sake of exploration and - hyeh, well - for _fun_ , really.»

Prowl

> «... So you _have_ worked with diseases.» A thoughtful pause. «... Not relevant now. But, at some point—after Springer—tell me what you've done.»
> 
> Prowl has plans.
> 
> As always.
> 
> «So. What have the diseases told you about the organisms in question?»

Tarantulas

> «What _haven’t_ I worked with?» An earnest question, not a prideful one. «Hyeh, but these - these are _impossible_ questions to answer, Prowl. You’re asking me to condense millennia’s worth of research into casual conversation fodder. I’d much rather talk about whatever it is you seem interested in - why diseases? And why the delay?»

Prowl

> Millennia. Delicious.
> 
> «Not casual conversation fodder. Business. And the delay because all other business comes after Springer business. I'm not distracting you with new projects before Springer is awake again.»

Tarantulas

> «Ah - business. I quite agree in that case, but…» A wistful sigh. «…You’re saying we’ll get carried away if I ask for even the tiniest amount of elaboration, aren’t you. You know, I _detest_ how right you are sometimes.»

Prowl

> A huff. «You wouldn't like me half as much if I wasn't right so often.»

Tarantulas

> Some genuinely amused snickering - in case Prowl hadn’t picked up on it already, Tarantulas was in an unusually good mood at the moment. «True, true. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
> 
> «…Say, what are you up to? You must not be terribly busy if you have time to call and chat about - well, whatever it is you neglected to think about before you called, hyeh.»

Prowl

> «At the moment? Very little. I haven't been allowed back on the construction site yet and I don't have any new info to analyze for Springer; so I've been reading the mystery novels Crosscut gave me while I was in the hospital.»

Tarantulas

> Hmn. Tarantulas had no idea who Crosscut was - maybe he should ask? Eh. Another time.
> 
> «Oh, really? I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I invited myself over, on that case…?»

Prowl

> Long pause. «... I suppose I wouldn't. Hook's working, though; no getting up to anything we'd need a chaperone for.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh, as you wish.» Though Tarantulas might try to push that limit as far as he possibly could. «I’ll need a moment to wrap things up on my end, but I’ve nothing going on that can’t wait. A small break would be _more_ than welcome.»

Prowl

> «I'll need a moment too, to alert Hook.» Also to quickly scrub himself off in the washracks. «Come over in ten minutes, I'll be in the common area.»

Tarantulas

> Don’t worry, Tarantulas will be going through decontamination as well.
> 
> «I look forward to seeing you then,» he purred happily.

Prowl

> «Likewise.» A farewell ping. For now.
> 
> Time to scrub himself clean as quickly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, we had to hurry to catch up with current events, so the actual makeout session that followed was left out/assumed to have happened. Rest assured there'll be more to make up for it later, wink wonk.


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl soliloquizes on a fraught offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: some actions could be interpreted as self-harm.

An enforcer.

Starscream wanted Prowl to be an enforcer again.

Prowl had thought he was prepared for Starscream to ask him to be anything. A spymaster, a secretary of state, a saboteur, a strategist. Anything. Anything.

Not that.

He’d been prepared to be asked to humiliate himself, to commit unspeakable crimes, to blacken his hands as badly as he ever had during the war, to tear out his own spark in service to Cybertron.

Instead… instead, Starscream had asked him to do the only thing Prowl had ever, ever wanted to do. Starscream had offered Prowl the one hope for the future that had kept him going through the war, the only happy ending he had ever been able to imagine for himself.

Be an enforcer again.

And Prowl was terrified.

* * *

Prowl needs to talk to someone.

He  _needs_ to talk to someone.

He needs to—

But who?

There’s no one. The only people who will understand are people he doesn’t want to understand.

He doesn’t really understand, himself.

* * *

Prowl is terrified, and he can’t talk to anyone about it. He’s going to have to do what he’s always done in these situations.

Sort out his own damn head.

It was going to be hard. From the moment Starscream had said that he wanted Prowl to become an enforcer, Prowl’s mind had felt like it was slipping out of place—a cog off its spoke—the psychological liminal space he fell into whenever his last life had died but his next one hadn’t yet begun. Everything was far away and he couldn’t completely feel himself, and that was going to be true until the transition was complete. He couldn’t wait for the transition to complete. He needed to figure out why he was afraid of becoming an enforcer again  _before_  he’d become an enforcer.

He was tired. The night he watched  _Get Out_ , he didn’t get any sleep—he knew he’d just see Bombshell and Shockwave looming over him if he tried; the nights after that, he’d slept fitfully, both from the nightmares and from the fact that he was sleeping alone. He hadn’t let the Constructicons touch him, get within thirty feet of him, since murder mystery night. He couldn’t bear to face them, the intruders that had inserted their minds into his head. He’d hid out on the balcony instead, for nearly a week now. They’d finally stopped checking on him when he’d started aiming his missile launchers at them. He was glad for the reprieve from them—but god, he could already feel his mind unraveling without the Constructicons nightly stitching it back together.

He felt strange and hollow and crumbling around the edges. But no one else was going to pick up those crumbling pieces but him, and the longer he waited to start the harder it was going to be.

So. He curled up in a ball on the balcony—arms around his legs, face hidden in his knees—set up specific parameters for his next set of dreams, and forced himself to sleep. Dreaming: running simulations on the theme of serving as an enforcer under Starscream, generating random scenarios he might face, trying to narrow down his own private “worst case scenario"—deliberately seeking nightmares. From there, he could figure out why he was so scared of what should have been a dream come true.

Perhaps he was sleeping; but he wasn’t going to get any rest today, either.

* * *

All told it’s taken nearly two weeks, but Prowl has finally figured it out. What it is he’s afraid of.

It’s not becoming an enforcer again.

It’s becoming an enforcer  _right now,_  in  _this world._  This dark, ugly, corrupt world, ruled by Starscream and hatred and the looming threat of well-deserved extinction.

In Prowl’s mind, returning to the enforcers was always something that he would do  _after._  After the war ended and all lingering foul traces of it were gone. After necessary evils were no longer necessary. After society had been made clean, and just, and kind. After Cybertron had been purified.

Once Cybertron was pure, Prowl could become pure with it. Prowl could give up the awful things he’d done and the awful thing he’d become, and return to who he was supposed to be: an honest, law-abiding cop, concerned only with protecting people. No shades of gray. No compromises of his ideals. He could finally, finally, just be…  _good_.

How could he be that while half serving Starscream and half preparing to assassinate Starscream? How could he be that while conspiring with a former Decepticon third-in-command and a mad scientist behind instruments of torture and weapons of mass destruction, while utilizing the services of criminals and mercenaries—while permanently entangled with five heartless, homicidal thugs? How could he be that while he still had his finger to the pulse of Cybertron’s carotid artery and at any second had to be prepared to strangle?

Over four million years of war, hoping to become an enforcer again had turned into more than a hope to go home: it had crystallized into a vision of what home would  _be,_  crystallized into a representation of who he believed  _he himself_  was. Beneath every sin Prowl had put on during the war, that crystal hope carried the definition of who Prowl was at his very core.

He was afraid that he might take back that symbol of everything that had been good about himself, and then use it for evil.

The crystal would shatter. Then there really would be nothing of Prowl left.

* * *

After two weeks of grappling with Starscream’s new job offer, Prowl had finally found someone to talk to about it. Whirl, of all people. Whirl.

Whirl who had had a different function—a function he wanted for himself—before the war, who had had that violently snatched away from him, who had spent the four million years since then being a completely different person, who had recently begun to pick up his old function again. Whirl who might actually understand the tension Prowl was under—that internal battle to decide when it was  _okay_  to go back to his old function.

Whirl  _had_  understood. He hadn’t been able to articulate what had let him make that decision to go back, but yes, he had understood. That was something.

And in the end, he’d given Prowl good advice. Advice he didn’t want to hear, advice that he hated, but the exact advice he needed.

“ _I think you’d let yourself be a bad cop, if you think you needed to._ ”

Prowl had always been a good cop. An honest police officer. No matter what enemies he made, no matter how unpopular he became, no matter what demotions he earned. Prowl swore to himself that he would never be anything else. As a strategist and a soldier, he might have been a monster; but he had vowed that he would never again become a cop unless and until he was in a world where he could be a  _good_  cop.

Could he be that anymore?

Long ago, near the beginning of the war, he’d told Mesothulas that he was afraid of being seduced by the potential of what he could get done if he killed a little—just a little—of his morality. And then a little more. And then a little more. He’d killed Mesothulas because of that fear. And then he’d done it anyway. He’d told himself he wasn’t changing, he was just doing what was necessary while keeping his real self locked away—but had he?  _Had_  he? Could he really separate his soul from his sins like that?

He’d told himself he’d wait to become a cop again until the war was over, and the world was righteous again. Why did he have to wait until the world was righteous? It hadn’t been righteous before the war—and he’d been good then.

Perhaps it was because he couldn’t trust himself to be good anymore if he was still in a world where it was convenient to be evil. If there was a wrong he could right by breaking the rules, he couldn’t trust himself not to break the rules. It would be irrational, wouldn’t it, to avoid committing a lesser evil for a greater good—and Prowl was nothing if not rational.

If he was holding off on becoming a cop again until he knew he could be a  _good_  cop—then he was waiting for something that would never happen.

The problem wasn’t that the world wasn’t right yet.

The problem was Prowl.

It’s time to give up.

* * *

The Constructicons didn’t question it when Prowl asked where they kept the sandpaper, nor when he disappeared with five sheets into the washracks.

They started to wonder when Prowl wasn’t back two hours later.

Bonecrusher found him curled up in a corner, only half in the stream of the shower, trembling. His face was blank but his optics were nearly bleached white from crying out all the color. The sandpaper was crumpled up on the ground and there were raw silver patches in his paint where he’d scraped off his police decals.

The Constructicons were waiting on Bonecrusher to report to them what was up with the boss. Instead, he sat down and held Prowl until he stopped trembling.

The others could wait to hear the good news.

* * *

Prowl had gone out last night to try to distract himself from all the rotten thoughts writhing in his head.

Didn’t work. Made things worse.

Part of him wanted to blame someone else for it—Starscream? Soundwave?—but no. That wasn’t fair to anyone. The foreign Starscream had committed no worse an affront than being an idiot in Prowl’s general vicinity, which had never been a crime before and certainly wasn’t one now just because Prowl had failed to keep a firm grip on his temper. And two of Soundwave’s top talents were figuring out information other people didn’t want him to know and fretting over the people he was attached to; if Prowl didn’t want that, then it was his own fault for giving Soundwave any information to work with.

If he didn’t want to deal with any of that, he should just stay at home. Deal with his petty grievances by himself. Like a mature, rational mech.

…

There wasn’t much to do, at home, alone.

Not much to do but sit at his desk and stare out the window.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it's Tarantulas's turn to soliloquize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A preface: Tarantulas and Soundwave had just had a telepathic discussion concerning their respective relationships with Prowl, a brief mention of trust problems, and also how Tarantulas felt he wasn't what Prowl wanted him to be. They left the discussion with Soundwave admitting he wasn't what Prowl wanted him to be either; however, he was working on it, testing himself. Tarantulas left shortly after Soundwave uttered this quote:

> [[ _But we will not know unless we test ourselves. And it is **worth** testing. Wouldn’t you agree?_ ]]

Tarantulas had vanished from Soundwave’s mind in a tiny puff of mace. But - mace? Where had _that_ come from? Why had Tarantulas felt so… so…?

…Because Soundwave was wrong. Because Soundwave had been baiting him into saying yes to something he _didn’t_ agree with. He absolutely _was_ supposed to say yes, there was no doubt of Soundwave’s intentions there - so either Soundwave was foolishly blind, or it was a trap, and either way it - it just wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t right, because Tarantulas didn’t _want_ to test himself. He didn’t want to try being the person Prowl wanted him to be. He’d been trying for months now and it chafed. _He wasn’t who Prowl wanted him to be - and he **couldn’t** be, **would never** be_.

Believe him, he’d been there. He did previously want to be what Prowl wanted him to be, would have bent over backwards to play the part until his lies became the truth. But that’s what they were, though - lies. There were so many little things that Prowl would ask of him, would have him be… and so much of it was unreasonable, maybe even impossible for him to achieve. It just wasn’t - wasn’t _him_. Why - oh, _why_ did he keep trying to fit himself into a slot he was never _meant_ to fit in?

And then - Soundwave wanted Tarantulas to test himself. Wanted him to try his hardest, wanted him to put his all into being whatever it was that Prowl wanted him to be. That is, Soundwave wanted Tarantulas to wholesparkedly agree he’d just drop his current self and metamorphose into something that fundamentally wasn’t him, that could never be him.

Tarantulas’ internals writhed. He couldn’t tell which feeling predominated - resentment, or despair.

* * *

Tarantulas’ mind had settled down from the day before, but apparently he still had some thinking to do.

He’d also told Soundwave he didn’t really know what trust _was_ , and it was true. In the sense that Tarantulas didn’t know what it would mean to be trusted by Prowl, or what he would do in order to earn that trust. Why was it something that he wanted in the first place anyhow? He’d just assumed trust was something good to have, right?

Well, time to go to the primary source for more information. The dictionary reported that trust meant “ _assured relianceon the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something_.”

That… thinking about such a thing… it made Tarantulas wither inside.

He didn’t deserve trust, of course. That made an infinite amount of sense. He already knew he was an outwardly untrustworthy character; he’d have admitted it if asked, but the implications… He hadn’t really let it sink in. He didn’t realize that _acting_ in an untrustworthy fashion fundamentally made you unworthy of trust. He didn’t realize that it didn’t make a bean’s worth of difference what you felt or thought on the _inside_.

Because, see - he’d thought he was justified in doing what he did, always, always. Everything had a reason, every awful act had an excuse. But what did that matter, if other people couldn’t possibly understand it? From their perspective they simply knew they couldn’t rely on him, couldn’t trust him, because all they saw was what he did, how he acted. It was that straightforward.

So what did that mean with respect to Prowl? Again, it made an infinite amount of sense that Prowl in particular wouldn’t trust Tarantulas. Prowl was intelligent, wary, calculating, not willing to take unnecessary risks, and Tarantulas was _blatantly_ untrustworthy. Tarantulas would have to work _extra_ hard in order to earn Prowl’s trust, because he was already starting in the negatives, and Prowl’s standards were in the millions.

What Soundwave had said about Prowl’s trust being heavy, hungry, burning, then - what did that mean? It sounded like Prowl’s trust was difficult to earn, and therefore weighty once one acquired it…? Hungry in the sense that Prowl probably trusted very few people, had very little to rely on, was deprived and yearning? And how was it burning? Passionate? Or did it burn the _recipient_ , knowing they’d met such high standards but could also lose that trust at any second if they didn’t maintain perfection…?

That sounded, in short, terrifying. Tarantulas certainly didn’t deserve trust, so he didn’t experience that now, but - would he _ever_ want such a thing? Was trust something worth striving for, when all it seemed to offer was an intimidating burden and constant paranoia?

_ Could _ Tarantulas even ever earn it? Did he have the capacity to be trustworthy in the first place? If he didn’t, then why even try?

…But what would it mean then, to be in a relationship without trust?

All of a sudden his prior thoughts caught up with him. Oh, but it all made sense now. Prowl - Prowl had such high expectations for him, wanted him to be someone Tarantulas felt he might not ever be able to become. That was because Prowl wanted… _he wanted Tarantulas to become trustworthy_.

How could Tarantulas be upset with Prowl for _that_? Any resentment he’d harbored before disappeared entirely, leaving him only with shivering despair.


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More updates on Prowl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A preface: Prowl turned down Starscream's offer to become an enforcer, and Starscream had a fit and revoked basically all Prowl's prisoner privileges. Also, there's mention of cityspeaking in this thread - it's a reference to an event that happened in Prowl's alternate universe a while back in which he did cityspeak for Metroplex.

“Prowl!” The Constructicons crowded around Prowl the moment the entryway door slid shut. “What’s the good news?” “Did Screamer say when you’re gettin’ out?” “Did he say anything about us?”

Silence. Keep your jaw clenched, keep your optics dim. Bonecrusher already caught you in a moment of weakness, don’t let the rest see you like that.

But they knew, they knew something was wrong. Prowl didn’t look at their faces, but he could see their armor sink lower, their fans slowing down as they realized there was going to be nothing to celebrate.

“We’re not getting out,” Prowl said. “None of us are.”

Raising his voice over their noises of disappointment, he went on: “Starscream, in all his  _boundless_  creativity, decided that if I’m not going to be a—” his voice caught on the word; he skipped over it, “—then he can’t possibly think of anything useful for me to do. He’s sending me back to the construction site.”

There was a long moment of stunned silence.

“… But what about  _us?_ ” Hook asked softly.

“Yeah,” Scavenger said, “You was gettin’ out—and then  _we_  was s'posed to—right?”

Prowl glared at the space on the floor between their feet. “Not anymore. I—didn’t intend to mislead you. I didn’t expect this to happen. But Starscream said if won’t be a… an enforcer—”

“Then why  _won’t_  you be?” Long Haul demanded. “Why didn’t you take the job when you found out he’d keep us all locked up?”

Prowl snorted derisively. “Don’t pretend you’re so disappointed. None of you wanted me to be a cop again, you were practically celebrating when—”

“We wanna be  _free_  more than we want you to be one of us!” Long Haul jabbed a finger threateningly toward Prowl’s chest. “That’s why we followed you when you asked us to go back into jail with you! Because you promised we’d get  _out_  of it! You said we’d get free!”

“Hey, Haul, c'mon—” The other Constructicons started crowding around Long Haul, trying to keep him away from Prowl. Mixmaster put a hand on his arm.

He shook it off and advanced again on Prowl. “And what do we get? When you was bargainin’ with Starscream about what kinda liberties your new job was gonna get you, you didn’t even  _mention_  us. Naw, you wanna get out and keep the rest of us  _locked up._  And now you ain’t even taking  _that_  offer!”

Hook was still trying to wedge himself in front of Long Haul; but even he said, “He’s right, you know. What’ve you ever done for us?”

Prowl’s words caught in his throat.  _I repainted myself for you,_  he wanted to say,  _I learned to be an architect for you. I fought for a year to come back to Cybertron for you. I went to jail for you. I demanded that Starscream put us together. I got you a goddamn loft apartment that’s far more than any of you deserve. I sleep with you. I let you frag me. I haven’t killed you all in your sleep. That’s what I’ve done for you._

“Nothing,” Mixmaster said. “You ain’t done nothing for us.” And Prowl didn’t say anything, because he was right. “What have  _we_  done for  _you?_ ”

Hook said, “Keep ya fed during your tantrums where you don’t talk to us for a week.”  _Tantrums?_

Bonecrusher gripped Hook’s shoulder. “Get us to customize your avatars for you, so you can go out and have fun while we’re  _stuck here._ ”

“Make acid for you,” Mixmaster said, “so you’re safe around that  _bug_  of yours.”

“Let you invite him into  _our home,_ ” Long Haul said.

Scavenger threw up a hand. “I  _watched!_ ” he said hotly. “I watched you frag that filthy animal—”

Prowl lunged at Scavenger. Bonecrusher and Mixmaster slammed him back against the door, a hand on each shoulder. Bonecrusher snarled, “Don’t you put a hand on him,  _Autobot._ ”

“ _Decepticon,_ ” Prowl snarled back, and glowered around at the ugly green pack. “ _Half_  of those things, I never asked you to do. Half of those things you  _enjoyed_  doing.” Glaring at Mixmaster, then Bonecrusher, “You  _surprised_  me with that acid. And you’ve been playing with my avatars every opportunity you get—”

“It’s called bein’ in a relationship,” Long Haul snapped. “ _This._ ” He gestured furiously in a circle between himself, the Constructicons, and Prowl. “This is a relationship. We  _help_  each other. We  _reciprocate._  And you don’t.”

“I never consented to—!”

“ _NEITHER DID WE!_ ” Long Haul’s fist slammed in the door over Prowl’s shoulder. “But we’ve dealt with it! We’ve  _tried_  treatin’ you like one of us! And you shoulda too!”

“I  _can’t!_ ” Prowl tensed himself. “You can’t demand that I adhere to the same standards as the lot of you just because  _you_  immediately fell in love—”

Long Haul’s fist swung at Prowl. Bright lights popped behind his right optic.

When he could think again, he was half collapsed in the entryway corner. His right optic couldn’t focus. He shook his head and looked up.

Long Haul was trembling with rage, engine rumbling. The other Constructicons looked uncomfortable—but they were standing beside Long Haul.

“Yer so scared,” Long Haul growled. “Yer  _so_  scared of turnin’ into a component of us. But you ain’t got no problem treating us like we’re components of  _you._ ”

Prowl said nothing.

And after a moment, Long Haul turned and trudged away. One by one, the others followed. Hook was the last, wavering just a moment, gaze fixed on Prowl’s face—no—on Prowl’s dent?—but finally, he turned away as well.

Prowl sank to the ground, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

* * *

This was the first time Prowl had been—had been back on the construction site since his injury. A few days ago he would have said  _allowed back_  on the site. Now he would say  _forced back._

He had his blueprints with him, even though he was sure by now they’d be out of date. The workers had been working for weeks without his assistance, and undoubtedly had improved on his plans, just due to his general amateurish incompetence. He shouldn’t even qualify as foreman anymore, between his incompetence and his absence. Maybe he didn’t.

He supposed he could ask the Constructicons, but… no.

He and the Constructicons couldn’t even look at each other.

It was a chilly, silent ride.

* * *

When Prowl got off the prisoner transport, he didn’t have to look up from the ground to tell that the workers were staring at him. With each step he took away from the transport, the noises of construction work slowly stopped.

A quick glance up told him two things: one, construction had indeed progressed without him, and something about the structure being built was—was incomprehensible to Prowl’s optics, was somehow wrong, and he didn’t know why; and two, yes, everyone was staring at him. He quickly lowered his gaze again. He was in the way. He was unwanted. He should get to the trailer, find someone to ask what he had missed—no—what he had missed didn’t matter, he only needed to ask what he should be helping with now…

Someone started clapping.

Prowl froze.

And then someone else. And two more. Slowly, Prowl looked up.

Everyone was watching him. Everyone with sufficient hands was clapping. Everyone with a visible mouth was smiling.

For him?

For Prowl?

Because he was back?

As the applause died down, one of the two orange mechs who’d worked on War Worlds—Sandblaster, this one was Sandblaster—walked up to Prowl and slung an arm (don’t do that) over his shoulders. “Good to have you back, boss.”  _Boss._  “C'mon, we’ll show you what you missed.”

Prowl’s vocalizer glitched—something tightening it up so he couldn’t get any words out. He just nodded.

Sandblaster led him into the crowd eager to welcome him back.

* * *

They had indeed made progress without Prowl—but, to Prowl’s surprise, they’d never deviated from his blueprints. Apparently it was all solid work. The cleanup work around Metroplex’s wound was done, the foundation had been laid, and now the—the whatchamacallems, the thingies, the structure, strut, column-things—Prowl was so tired, he couldn’t even remember the basics—they were currently going u—STEEL FRAME, the steel frame—that was going up.

So they were following his blueprint. Surprising, but okay. He must not have done a completely awful job. Why did everything look  _wrong,_  then? Prowl couldn’t even articulate what was wrong, why it was wrong, just that there was supposed to be something more… something like… He didn’t know.

And because he didn’t know, he didn’t say anything. He just listened as the latest progress was explained.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was only feeling off.

* * *

The construction site looked different when it was a life sentence instead of a temporary stop.

At the beginning of the war, Prowl had tried to leave it, on a ship bound for another planet. The Decepticons had shot the ship down; it had crash landed in the Manganese Mountains. Almost everyone had died. Prowl had thought he was going to be one of them.

The construction site looked kind of like that mountain.

* * *

Prowl was on break, leaning against the wall of the break trailer, staring resentfully at the partially-constructed steel frame. Trying to figure out what was  _wrong._

He didn’t know. Except that there was this insistent, niggling feeling that something was off. Something about the distance between the girders. Something about the positions of the beams. Something about the way the windows were set into the walls.

Prowl blinked.

The building didn’t have windows. It didn’t have walls.

He was seeing them anyway.

A year ago, in another universe, Prowl spoke for a city. Desperate times, desperate measures, long story. Any polite interfacing partner will leave his lover with a data packet when he disengages, a goodbye/thank-you gift, and Metroplex was no different. He left Prowl with a massive and massively compressed file, heavy and dense as a black hole, like a benign tumor in Prowl’s brain. Some of that data, he’d already unwound, but most of it? Not even close. In the year since then, when his dreams weren’t occupied by other calculations, Prowl had been slowly, slowly decompressing the file.

All of the sudden, a crumb of the data cracked open.

And Prowl could  _see._  Superimposed over the half-built steel frame, rendered clear as day on his HUD, there it was: the completed building that was  _supposed_  to be there.

_ He had Metroplex’s blueprints. _

“Scra—Hook!” The other workers were treated to a rare sight: Prowl the Pragmatist, Mr. Cold And Calculating, at a dead run. “ _Hook!_  Where are—?” He caught sight of Hook and course-corrected so sharply his feet slid out from under him. He caught himself on a hand, stumbled back upright, and half-crashed into Hook’s side.

“ _Frag!_ ” Hook caught them both, and said furiously, “The frag are you—?”

“Hook, I saw— I have to show—” Prowl smacked Hook’s codpiece. “Cable. I need— Hardline. I have to show you.”

Hook stared as Prowl opened his own panel and started unwinding his cables. More baffled than angry, he repeated, “Th'frag are you…?”

“Cable!” Prowl repeated. “Please. It’s good.”

Hook stared a moment longer. Then shook his head and opened his panel. “Yeah, fine. Primus, I swear…”

Prowl passed his cables over and plugged in Hook’s, and fed over the same 3D blueprint superimposed over the construction site. “This. Look at this.”

Hook fell silent, staring up at the images on his HUD. “… Huh…”

“This is—” Prowl gestured broadly. “This is what’s  _supposed_  to be here. When I cityspoke on the  _Lost Light_ — This is in the data packet Metroplex left me. I don’t know what else is in there. Maybe the whole city’s bluepr—”

Hook picked Prowl up in a tight hug. “You’re a damn miracle worker, boss.”

* * *

The construction workers were elated at Prowl’s surprise revelation during that night’s construction work. By the time they got home, the Constructicons were still ebullient.

Prowl wasn’t.

The thrill of doing something useful had worn off and reality had set back in: he hadn’t done anything useful at all. He wasn’t useful for anything he’d done, but for something that somebody else had stuffed inside him. He’d just been the bucket to carry Metroplex’s data from point A to point B.

He was so tired of being used as a vessel for someone else’s data. And… tired in general. He was tired. Exhausted, exhausted, exhausted.

He was upstairs and in the unused berth room before the Constructicons stopped chattering long enough to notice he’d gone.

It wasn’t hard for them to figure out where he went, though. They looked up at the dark doorway on the mezzanine.

Finally, Scavenger asked. “Do you think…? Should we tell him he can come down?”

The looked at Hook. Hook looked at Long Haul. Long Haul looked at Hook. Hook looked at the doorway.

“… Nah,” Hook said. “He knows he can come down if he wants to.”

They all nodded in agreement.

They all knew it wasn’t true.

* * *

Mixmaster was sent upstairs to check on Prowl.

He was curled up alone in the far corner of the room, asleep.

Mixmaster considered waking him, but then just left a cube of energon for him on the floor, before heading downstairs to sleep with the others.

When they woke up, they found the energon cube, untouched, set prominently on the kitchen counter. A datapad set next to it read, “ _Please don’t._ ”

The Constructicons regarded it glumly. “… Great.” “Now he ain’t eating.”


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas frets; however, ultimately it " _doesn't matter_."

Tarantulas

> It’d been quite some time since Tarantulas and Prowl had so much as called each other, but it’d _had_ to be that way though, right? Prowl had asked them to do “nothing” for him, and Soundwave had convinced Tarantulas to actually listen and obey him this time. No unnecessary comms, no visits, no prying, just… nothing.
> 
> Tarantulas decided this’d count as a necessary comm, though. Movie night was fast approaching, and they had a few things to straighten out first.
> 
> _Ping_.
> 
> «Prowl? …Do you have a moment?»

Prowl

> Typically, unless Prowl is asleep or in the middle of an emergency, it takes very little time for him to reply to a new comm.
> 
> Not so today. It took nearly an hour before he finally replied, «... What?»

Tarantulas

> It took everything in Tarantulas’s power not to verbally jump on Prowl. Deep vents, Tarantulas.
> 
> «We, ah. Never discussed the situation concerning Starscream. Considering how soon the next movie night is, I thought it ought to be addressed.»

Prowl

> The first answer out of Prowl's mouth seemed to be his default response these days: «Doesn't matter.»
> 
> But Tarantulas needed more detail than that. He needed to know exactly WHAT didn't matter. «I'm not coming back. Starscream won't have an opportunity to see us together. Just stay away from him and don't talk about me out loud if he's there.»

Tarantulas

> He – what?
> 
> «I – is there any reason in particular that you’re not coming? And it’s not merely that – there’s also the matter of visiting your apartment, which I _still_ don’t understand why something can’t be worked out, one way or another.»

Prowl

> «I've been forbidden from leaving my quarters in holomatter anymore. I don't expect you to understand—you don't know Starscream. All you have to know is you can't come.»

Tarantulas

> «No, I don’t know Starscream, but that doesn’t preempt you _trying_ to explain to me why – why, _any_ of this. Why are you forbidden? What happened? Why would it even matter whether or not Starscream knew I existed? _What’s going on_?»

Prowl

> Prowl let out a heavy sigh that he didn't have the energy to try to suppress. Okay. Of course. Stupid. _I don't expect you to understand_ , stupid. This was Tarantulas. Of course he wasn't going to let it lay until he understood.
> 
> «Starscream tried to insist that I take a new job duty. I refused. He's revoked what liberties I have. That's it. And if Starscream _knows_ you, he'll try to _exploit_ you. If he can't exploit you, he'll try to _destroy_ you. That's why it matters whether he knows you exist.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas definitely heard that sigh, but for him it was all the more reason to keep pressing. The self-control Soundwave had mostly convinced Tarantulas into was crumbling by the second.
> 
> «What job duty was it? I, I –» A small frustrated noise. «You can’t seriously think Starscream would be able to get his claws on me. I live reclusively in a pocket universe of my very own, and – well, even if he _did_ try to hunt me down, is that anything different than how I’d be hiding from him right _now_? Besides, I can’t hide forever – better to reveal myself and come up with some way to let him think he’s exploiting me than to cower in the shadows. As much as I _prefer_ the shadows, being _relegated_ to them is a prison unto itself, one – one without you in it, Prowl.»
> 
> ...Scrap, did he say that last part out loud?

Prowl

> «Doesn't matter. I'm not accepting it.» Doesn't matter, doesn't matter, doesn't matter.
> 
> «You seriously underestimate Starscream. You might be able to hide from him—as pathetically restrictive a life as that would be—but he knows I've had an invisible guest. If he finds out who you are, it will take very little time for him to figure out that you have the exact skillset necessary to be said guest. He's got his hands on me—do you think there's a chance that he won't use threats against me to control you? And then threats against you to control me?
> 
> «Stay in the shadows. As long as he doesn't know who you are or have a reason to want to find you, you'll be able to move more freely.»

Tarantulas

> «It _does_ matter – it’s eliminating every privilege you have left!» And a large chunk of Tarantulas’s, as well.
> 
> «That – but if we –» More frustrated noises. «Then he’s _already_ got us both, Prowl. You, and now me by proxy. Nameless I might be to him, but he knows I exist, and that’s enough to factor me into his plans, whatever those might be. We – we might as well be _proactive_ about this. We’re already _in_ the game, we might as well play it properly.»

Prowl

> «It doesn't matter because it's not going to change. I'm not doing it so who cares what it is.
> 
> «No. He doesn't ‘got’ us both. If he had us both, we would be getting blackmailed into doing things we would never do with threat of bodily harm or death to the other. There is no game. This isn't a game, I'm not in it, and I'm not playing. Stay away from Starscream.»

Tarantulas

> « _I_ care.» But Tarantulas would leave it at that for now; he’d drag the topic back up later.
> 
> «It was a – a bad metaphor, then. But we can’t just do _nothing_ , Prowl. I’m not saying I should introduce myself to Starscream, most definitely not at this very second, but it’s just –»
> 
> – _I can’t **do** this_. But Tarantulas couldn’t say that, because he knew what Prowl would say in return. _Then don’t. Just move on to the next Prowl_. No. No no no.

Prowl

> « _I_ don't.
> 
> «Just what? Simply try to not make contact with him. That's it. That's all. Why is that so hard.»

Tarantulas

> «Not making contact with him means far more than you think, then. Or at least, if you _have_ teased it all out, you don’t _care_. » …Ouch. «It’s not just being in the same room as he is, it’s anything at all, any visits to your apartment, any interaction aside from comms, and even then I’m sure there will be some restriction there too. It’s – it’s anything to do with _you_ , anything he can monitor, at least.» A pained laugh. «I don't understand how you can’t see why that might be _hard_ for me.»

Prowl

> «Starscream said that if my "invisible visitor" ever comes back—and I quote—"they will be shot, captured, and held, in that order." No matter _how_ unpleasant that is, I'm not going to risk you.» Beat. «... Risk it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas could have sworn his spark just sputtered out. Had it been the blatant threat, or was it that slip-up at the end? Both, maybe… but in any case, it had him stunned silent for a while.
> 
> «…We wouldn’t have to risk _anything_ if – if somehow I _did_ make contact with him with a plan in mind, got the upper hand, or the _middle_ hand even, and arranged terms, or, or…»
> 
> Prowl wasn’t going to budge on this, was he. Tarantulas wasn’t sure whether he should feel flattered or devastated.

Prowl

> «He's not going to let **anyone** in here. And you're not going to risk it. _Don't give him someone he can use against me._ » That time, it wasn't a mistake.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas choked, silent again for a moment. «I wouldn’t – he _couldn’t_ use me against you, I wouldn’t _let_ him.» The slight waver in Tarantulas’s voice belied defeat, though. «You already know I’d do anything. Anything at all. And you’re clever enough to sort something out, I – I _know_ you are. All we need to do is think this through, I'm sure there's a solution here – not just for me, but for you, for this – this job thing, this – everything. I'm _sure_ of it.»

Prowl

> «He's clever, too. He's as clever as me. Maybe more clever.»
> 
> A heavy silence.
> 
> «... I'm not trying to sort something out. With this job thing. Everything.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re sorely underestimating yourself.» A weak huff. «You can’t just let Starscream _rule_ you, Prowl. He may be your boss – your leader – but he’s not your emperor. And don’t – don’t tell me it doesn’t matter. Even if it doesn’t matter to _you_ , it – it matters to _me_.»

Prowl

> «... You're right. It doesn't matter to me. I don't want to get out.»

Tarantulas

> Mild panic. «Wait, was – was that not what you meant before?»

Prowl

> Was what what Prowl didn't mean before when? «What.»

Tarantulas

> «I – nevermind, it’s – why _don’t_ you want to get out?»

Prowl

> « _Doesn't matte_ r.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas clenched his paws on the other side of the comm, waiting a shaky second before he responded. Something was _wrong_ , worse than he thought it was, and being hasty about replying wouldn’t do him any favors.
> 
> «Prowl, let’s – I need to get this straight. You turned down a job offer from Starscream, yes. Now he’s cutting you off from everything and – and threatening violence against me if I break your restrictions. And you’re simply – you don’t want to alter the situation? You don’t think it _matters_? That is – you'd prefer to simply... wait it out?»

Prowl

> Oh, thank you, Tarantulas, for offering Prowl a way to respond that he didn't have to waste the energy to think up himself and that didn't sound completely awful. «Yes. I'm waiting it out.»

Tarantulas

> That was… odd. Something about that just didn’t _feel_ right.
> 
> «…How long are you going to wait it out for? How long do you anticipate it'll last?»

Prowl

> Maybe until death. «As long as it takes.»

Tarantulas

> «That – that only answers the first question.»

Prowl

> «If I'm going to wait as long as it takes, regardless of the length of time, then how long it will last _doesn't matter_.»

Tarantulas

> «But if _I’m_ thinking I might _not_ want to wait as long as it takes, then it **does** matter!»

Prowl

> A longer silence than there should have been. And then, finally, simply, «You'll wait.»

Tarantulas

> Instantly Tarantulas’s spark felt like it’d sputtered out again.
> 
> «…Give me one very, _very_ good reason why. Because – if –» He choked on his words, then decided just not to finish the sentence.

Prowl

> Silence. A reason?
> 
> Because Prowl was so so tired and he didn't have the strength to come up with a reason why, much less the words to express it. Because Prowl didn't have the mental energy left to contemplate the possible outcomes if Tarantulas didn't wait, and therefore he had to wait.
> 
> He said, «Please.»

Tarantulas

> Of all the things Prowl could have said, that might have been the most wickedly potent. Tarantulas’s spark was no longer sputtering – he could’ve sworn it’d constricted down to a pinpoint.
> 
> A long pause. «…I – oh _Prowl_ …» More agonizing silence.

Prowl

> Prowl didn't know what that meant.
> 
> So he didn't say anything.

Tarantulas

> It took a while for Tarantulas to drag himself out of his own head again. Unusual, for someone who detested silence so much.
> 
> When he finally spoke up, it sounded like it was being strangled out of him. «All – alright.»

Prowl

> Dull surprise.
> 
> «... Good.»
> 
> Prowl felt like he was supposed to say something else. But he couldn't remember what.
> 
> It probably didn't matter.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas felt like he was teetering on the edge of saying something too, but he couldn't possibly encapsulate the feeling in words. Ah, but how much of a struggle the _previous_ stuttered word had been already...
> 
> He settled on saying something different, a defeated statement. «...You're not going to tell me anything more about all this, are you.»

Prowl

> «There's nothing else worth discussing.» In other words, no.

Tarantulas

> «Not even –» …Not even what? Tarantulas could think of a million and one things to say, but none that Prowl would actually _care_ about.
> 
> «…We could discuss – something else. To – not think about it, then.» To help Tarantulas not dwell on how he’d just sealed his own fate, sentenced himself to the horrifying prospect of never actually seeing Prowl anymore, for Primus knows how long.

Prowl

> «... There's nothing I want to discuss.»

Tarantulas

> «But I don’t – I don’t want to end the call, Prowl, it’s –» A tiny whine. «…This is the _one thing_ I have now. The one thing _you_ have now.»

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> Then, finally, «I don't... have anything to say.»

Tarantulas

> «Not – not even something about…» Commence grasping at straws. «About work? Are you still allowed on the construction site?»

Prowl

> «I've been sent back.» Not allowed. Sent.

Tarantulas

> «Oh – well, I suppose that’s good?» Hopefully. «And the Constructicons? They – the same for them? Regarding this whole situation, that is.»

Prowl

> «The same. Not that it was ever different for them.»

Tarantulas

> «A-ah, I see.»
> 
> …This was so _painful_.

Prowl

> Silence. Tarantulas had asked him nothing, he had nothing to say.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas waited as long as it took Prowl to say something, which… Well. Turns out, he couldn’t wait that long. Sweet, sweet irony.
> 
> «Can you – can you just stay on the line with me…? Even if we don’t talk.»

Prowl

> «Okay.» That was easier. No pressure to have to come up with something to say. Like sitting in a room together doing separate things.

Tarantulas

> Apparently words had begun to fail Tarantulas already – his response was just a thin, grateful hum. Oh, but how he longed to just, just _touch_ Prowl, wrap an arm around him, cup his face, something, anything.
> 
> This was going to be hell.

Prowl

> So he kept the comm on, silently. For hours, if that was what Tarantulas wanted.
> 
> After all, it didn’t matter to Prowl. He didn’t need that comm line for anything else. For the first time in… how long was it?—he had nothing important he needed to do.
> 
> So he read. One of the mystery novels Crosscut had given him. When he was no longer able to pretend that he could absorb what he was reading, he set it aside and pulled out his magnets, turning them over and over in his hands. When his hands had gone so numb that he couldn’t even tell how many magnets he was holding anymore, he put the magnets away and tried to watch something, one of the baseball games he’d recorded from Earth but hadn’t yet gotten around to viewing. And when he lost focus again, he once more tried reading, this time one of his textbooks on architecture.
> 
> Maybe soon he’d be tired enough to sleep.

Tarantulas

> Of course, this was both exactly what Tarantulas had wanted and the opposite of what he _really_ wanted… but he settled.
> 
> He settled for hours, yes. Hours of pacing the hallways, pacing his lab, pacing his room. Oh, he did get work done, cleaned up a few things, did some maintenance, but they were only chores. His spark certainly wasn’t in any of it – likely it was in fizzling weakly his tanks instead, or choked up in his vocalizer.
> 
> At first he was just as silent as Prowl was, but eventually Tarantulas started muttering to himself intermittently. That then turned into a running commentary of what he was doing – while working in the fume hood, he’d ramble about switching it on, what settings he’d adjust it to and why, the colors and textures contained in the petri dishes, the state of his equipment, and needing to run his autoclave soon.
> 
> The commentary phased in and out, Tarantulas occasionally getting lost in his own thoughts, but it always came back. The silence he usually didn’t mind was deafening now that he was sharing it with Prowl – he _had_ to fill it somehow.
> 
> One chore done – then came the light, sharp sound of clawed feet pacing the halls again. Another round of tests – more footsteps, more meaningless chatter.
> 
> Tarantulas didn’t expect Prowl to respond, and that was alright; he could keep this up indefinitely on his own. Just – just so long as Prowl didn’t hang up.

Prowl

> The more Tarantulas chattered, the less Prowl's floundering attention span could focus on anything else. And then the less he wanted to focus on anything else.
> 
> Gradually, he gave up on trying to read, or watch something else. None of it mattered. He was just filling the time. Anyway, he couldn't concentrate on it.
> 
> But on Tarantulas, he could. The meaningless chatter, the explanations of what he was doing, steady enough to fill his thoughts but not enough to overwhelm him in data. Soon, he was just curled up into a ball, optics off. Listening.
> 
> He had been silent for several hours, and even Tarantulas was briefly silent but for the sound of his footsteps, when finally, finally, Prowl softly spoke: «You're sterilizing something?»

Tarantulas

> «Hm? Yes, I’m –»
> 
> A clatter as Tarantulas dropped what he’d been holding. For a split second he’d thought he was answering _himself_ – not an uncommon occurrence honestly – but no, that was – that was Prowl. Prowl had said something, after hours of… nothing. Something.
> 
> Some shuffling and clinking as Tarantulas gathered his dropped goods. «H-hyeh, yes. Some _things_. You can’t trust soap or acetone or bleach as much as good old-fashioned autoclaves. Besides, liquid sterilization is such a hassle without them. Although – if I had to use an _Earth_ autoclave – I don’t even _know_ what I’d do with myself, they’re just so unnecessarily sluggish and sweltering. I really pity humans sometimes, you know, or really any sort of species that ha – hasn’t…»
> 
> Tarantulas trailed off in an awkward half-laugh. «P-pardon me. I – cut you off, didn’t I. Or – something like that.»

Prowl

> «No. You didn't.» All Prowl had wanted was to prod Tarantulas into speaking again. «"Any sort of species that hasn't—"?»

Tarantulas

> Oh, so Prowl just wanted Tarantulas to… keep going? He could do that.
> 
> «Well, maybe not so much a single species as their _planet_ , given the way technology bleeds over like that, but – yes. Anyone who hasn’t… what was I going to say? Oh – hasn’t managed to sufficiently develop their radiation sterilization to replace pressure/temperature autoclaves in laboratory settings. Last I saw, they were getting there though…» A little sigh. Ah, humans. Funny little fleshbags.

Prowl

> Back to silence. Tarantulas is talking again; Prowl returns to simply listening.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had been just a tiny bit hopeful that Prowl would engage again, but alas. Time to keep talking to himself, then.
> 
> A shuffle and a series of clinks. «…You know what I wish I could do – I wish I could easily levitate and control things instead of carrying them. For all the arms and legs I have you’d think I wouldn’t mind it much, but it’s a _chore_ , and I can’t hold _everything_. And I wouldn’t have to worry about protective gear for _me_ , and about contamination for the object in question…»

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> Then, «Why don't you make that?»

Tarantulas

> A wistful sigh. «Too complex a project for something I could just continue to do without the technology. Maybe if I have more free time down the line, but at the moment… not so much.» A little contemplative quiet. «Besides, I’m not a _wizard_. Levitating anything that’s not moderately magnetic is more the realm of _magic_ , I’d say.»

Prowl

> «You stitched scraps of stray reality into a pocket dimension.»

Tarantulas

> «But that’s _different_.» A huff, as he tried to find the words to explain how. «I – I knew what I was doing there. I don’t know which direction to go as far as levitation manipulation is concerned, and that requires _research_ and backreading and – a bunch of things I don’t really have the time or patience for right now. I have to really be _invested_ in a project, and if something is for mere convenience it’s far less likely to be as engaging.»

Prowl

> Prowl had been responding more to Tarantulas's claim that he wasn't a wizard. But there wasn't really any point in clarifying, was there? «Mm.»

Tarantulas

> “Mm?” Well, “mm” was better than nothing. Best keep chattering away, then.
> 
> A whiny sigh. «I suppose we can’t have _everything_ we want, can we…» The sound of a door opening and a whoosh of air. «Ah, alright, I’m here now. All I have to do is figure out which of the autoclaves is occupied now, and… yes, three and four will do.»
> 
> And on he went, describing what he was putting in the autoclaves and what settings he was using for the sterilization process. After the autoclaves came a short trip into the organics sector to check on his specimens ( _oh goodness, look at those pinkies, have you ever seen a newborn rat before_ ), then back to the main lab for more work on his console.

Prowl

> Now that Tarantulas was talking again, Prowl fell silent again. Just listening. Letting Tarantulas's voice distract him from all the noise in his head.
> 
> Eventually, gradually, Prowl slipped into recharge. His comm remained on.

Tarantulas

> Of course, Tarantulas had no clue at first that Prowl had fallen asleep, but eventually when he fell silent for a while and Prowl said nothing, Tarantulas assumed as much. A few quiet verbal pokes in his direction solidified his suspicions.
> 
> Should he… hang up? Leave the comm on for Prowl to wake up to? Ultimately Tarantulas decided to end the call, reluctantly leaving Prowl alone with whatever dreams occupied him in recharge.


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief update; Tarantulas rambles again.

Tarantulas

> _Ping_.
> 
> The vocals that followed shortly after were soft and measured, as if Tarantulas were speaking to a wild animal. «…Prowl? I have some files to pass along, regarding Springer.»
> 
> Please, Prowl, ignore the fact that he could’ve just sent the files straight to Hook like you’d told him to. Tarantulas was going to cling to this thinly-veiled excuse to chat like his life depended on it.

Prowl

> It took less time for Prowl to reply than it had the last time Tarantulas had contacted him. Maybe because the subject matter was Springer; maybe because he was hoping for more chatter to latch onto.
> 
> If Prowl noticed that something about Tarantulas’s voice was odd, he didn’t mention it. (… But for the record he didn’t. He didn’t notice. What is tone.) «Pass them along.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t care what reasons Prowl might have for answering, just so long as he did. Based on their last mostly-one-sided conversation, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d even get an acknowledging ping.
> 
> A second later Prowl would find a neat yet hefty folder dropped into his inbox. «The specifications for the spark augmentation process,» Tarantulas explained. «I’ve included data from previous implementations, but of course updated it for Springer as requested. It’s 100% ready to go, in my opinion, once Hook sees fit to approve it.»  _Approve_ , not adjust, mind you. This was Tarantulas’s work alone.

Prowl

> «Mm.» A moment to download and skim the file. «I’ll pass it on to Hook.»

Tarantulas

> Hopefully Prowl would find it vaguely interesting - it  _did_  involve destabilizing a spark and injecting extra energies into it.
> 
> «Thank you, Prowl.» A hum - an affectionate one, if hums could come off as such. «Any interest in poking through it some so you’re aware of what’ll be going on? I’m more than willing to answer questions.» 

Prowl

> «I’m not a medic. I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to make sense of it.»

Tarantulas

> «But that’s what  _I’m_  here for - to translate, if you’d like.» 

Prowl

> «I’m sure you have far more productive things to do with your time than explain your work to someone who doesn’t need to understand it for it to be implemented.»

Tarantulas

> «I can explain it  _while_  I do other things? Besides, this - this is  _Springer_  we’re talking about.» A tiny pause. «He’s - he  _was_ -  _Ostaros_.»

Prowl

> «I know.»
> 
> It didn’t change the fact that there was no need for Prowl to be told how the process worked. He didn’t feel the need to point that out.

Tarantulas

> «I - very well.» There was definitely a sad frown in his voice. Primus, things must be pretty bad if Prowl didn’t care to hear about Ostaros; either that, or Tarantulas was overestimating how much the mech meant to Prowl.
> 
> «…Is there anything else you’d be interested in talking about? It’s perfectly alright if not.» That’s right, don’t push, just… take it easy, Tarantulas.

Prowl

> Long pause.
> 
> «… Not really.»
> 
> No surprises there.
> 
> «I’ll let you know when Hook’s gone over the file.»

Tarantulas

> «Do, yes - my thanks. We likely ought to have a meeting with the others once that’s settled, no? Or maybe - I ought to have results for the ununtrium binding shortly as well, so maybe wait for that instead?» 

Prowl

> «Mm. Is that all you have left to do before the next meeting? Get Hook’s approval on the spark procedure and get the results on the ununtrium binding?»

Tarantulas

> «I’d like to have done a  _little_  more with ununtrium before then, but otherwise yes. I’ve prepared the zero point kit, the spark augmentation shouldn’t be a problem, and yes, the ununtrium - ah, and we’d have to sort out details on what sort of chamber would be required and what facilities that’d entail, but… otherwise… that  _seems_  to be it? On my end, at least.» 

Prowl

> «So we can schedule the meeting soon? How soon.»

Tarantulas

> An indecisive pause. «…Less than two weeks, I’d say? If I  _don’t_  have anything by then, that’s definitely reason for concern.» 

Prowl

> «Mm. Noted.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas waited a little while just in case Prowl had anything else to say, but… nope. Whatever had set in over the past few weeks definitely still had Prowl in its depressive grip.
> 
> «…Can we - can we stay on the line again? Like last time.»

Prowl

> «Yes.» Out of Prowl, a “yes” might as well be unbridled enthusiasm.

Tarantulas

> A relieved little sigh. Tarantulas hadn’t been sure Prowl would agree to it.
> 
> Thankfully for both of them, Tarantulas dove into a meandering stream of consciousness almost immediately, letting himself ramble on just like he had before. He’d keep going on unless Prowl indicated he preferred otherwise - probably to the point where one or the other of them passed out.

Prowl

> And so, until one of them passed out, Prowl silently listened.


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet more updates on Prowl.

“Hey, you’re the medic, right? Shouldn’t his face have been fixed?” one of the construction workers asked.

“Whatcha mean?” Hook asked. “It  _was_  fixed.”

“No,” the worker said, “he’s got that…” a vague gesture toward his own face, “dent in the side of his head.”

Hook fell silent. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah. That one.” The one where Long Haul had clocked Prowl.

“Shouldn’t that have been fixed?” the worker pressed. “Where’d it come from, anyway? The pipe didn’t go through there.”

“Well…”

Prowl said, “It  _was_  fixed.” Hook started; he hadn’t known Prowl was within hearing range.

“Doesn’t  _look_  fixed.”

“You should have seen it before. Anyway, this is new damage.” (Hook braced himself for Prowl to tell the worker that Long Haul had done it. Not  _all_  of the workers liked Prowl more than the Constructicons, but a  _lot_  did, and if Prowl decided he wanted to make the Constructicons’ lives hell it wouldn’t be hard.) “There was some kind of… pressure? behind my optic, after the repairs were done. The pressure’s naturally subsided, but it left a vacuum and pulled some of my surface facial mesh in.”

The worker winced. “Oooh.” Hook stared at Prowl, dumbfounded.

Prowl shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt. It’s just cosmetic.”

“Looks kind of like a punch.”

“Yeah,” Prowl agreed. “I get punched a lot. I think an old one must have left hairline fissures under my face mesh, so it just cracked along those lines.”

Prowl caught Hook’s gaze. Hook quickly nodded. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely. That definitely happens sometimes,” Hook lied.

“Huh,” the worker said. “Better get that fixed.”

Prowl nodded. Hook said, “Yeah, once we’re sure no more—depressurizin’ is going on.”

The worker wandered back to work. Hook turned to stare at Prowl. He had half a dozen questions— _Why’d you say that? Are you trying to protect Long Haul? Are you trying to defend your own ego? Do you think we owe you something now? Do you think we regret what Long Haul did enough to care if people know?_ —but the one that came out was, “A vacuum behind your face? Really?”

“You’re the medic. Do you have a better explanation for why I have punch-shaped dent that I didn’t have when I left for the hospital?”

Hook couldn’t say he did. “… So why not tell ‘em you got punched.”

“He might’ve got in trouble.”

“You think so?”

Hook had meant it as a genuine question; but Prowl immediately wilted as though he’d been scolded, shoulders shrinking and optics dimming. “You’re right,” he said. “No one would care, would they? I wasted my time.”

That had gone in a direction Hook hadn’t expected. While he was still figuring out what to say to that, Prowl turned and walked away, heading back to work.

Hook still didn’t know why Prowl cared whether Long Haul got in trouble.

* * *

When Prowl is staring out the window as all the Constructicons sleep.

When he’s standing alone by himself during an unwanted break at work.

When he’s falling asleep, waking up—when he doesn’t have something, anything, to drown out his thoughts.

Two soundclips, playing on loop, fill his thoughts:

_“Then when this city is crippled by a terrorist attack that you didn’t lead? It will be on your head.”_

_“And as long as I’m being honest–I think you’d let yourself be a bad cop, if you think you needed to.”_

There was no space left in between.

* * *

When he doesn’t have something else to distract him, Prowl has those two soundclips stuck in his head, playing over and over.

…

He drowns them out with recordings of Tarantulas chattering.

* * *

Today, Prowl got up before the Constructicons.

He refueled. He showered.

He read a datapad on architecture—unsteadily, yes, his concentration coming and going—but he read it, until it was time to go to the construction site.

Prowl doesn’t feel very much like he’s living. But like hell is he going to let that stop him from working.

* * *

With the new blueprints for the construction site uncovered, they had to change their construction plans—including disassembling half the steel frame they’d put up in order to construct a new one. And the construction crew wanted to know why in the hell they were undoing half of their hard work.

Which meant explaining that they were now working with new blueprints. Which meant explaining where Prowl had got the new blueprints. Which meant explaining  _how_  Prowl had got the new blueprints.

Which lead to the crew pausing work and sticking Prowl on top of a crate, where he awkwardly recounted his one-time cityspeaking adventure while the crew asked questions.

Nearly a dozen times he almost said  _that’s classified_  before remembering the data had, in fact, been declassified.

They didn’t get much work done that day.

* * *

 

Prowl’s had a new routine the past few days. The construction site is the same; but after it, he’s been visiting Metroplex.

He’s making very little progress. Until they have a proper rig in place, he can’t do anything more than hook up to Metroplex for a few minutes, where at best he gets flashes of disjointed images and gibberish. And thus far there haven’t really been efforts to, say, plug him in for a few minutes, unplug and let him recover, and plug in a few more. He suspects the amount of time he’s permitted to spend with Metroplex is severely limited. (He suspects that Windblade doesn’t know about this relationship yet. He suspects the two prior facts are related to each other.)

So far, he’s produced nothing useful. But there’s been one change: he’s had more energy lately, electrified into alertness each time he interfaced with Metroplex.

There’s just… nothing he wants to do with it.

He’s started working on space bridge math. He wants to know if opening a bridge to a black hole at his location will suck the rest of Cybertron through with it.

The Constructicons are getting nervous.

* * *

“Hey Prowl.”

“Hmm?”

“Why don'cha listen to one of your recordings of the bug instead?”

And that was how Prowl knew the Constructicons were worried.

* * *

Prowl still “works” at home—kinda. He doesn’t honestly get much of anything done, and he doesn’t see much point in trying to change that. But he’s making an effort, so in a technical sense, he is still working.

His routine has changed, though. Usually he would sit at his desk on the mezzanine, overlooking the main floor where the Constructicons usually stayed, buried in a dozen datapads at once. He didn’t like to be interrupted, so typically they didn’t; but if they ever needed him, it was easy enough for them to just shout up at him.

Now, though, he did his “work” in the second story berth room, sitting on the berth in the corner furthest back from the door, curled in a ball, hunched over a single datapad that he was barely reading. And even though he was very clearly less busy now, somehow the fact that he’d withdrawn so far away from easy shouting distance made it so much more intimidating for the Constructicons to try to approach him.

Long Haul was not, and never had been, an easily intimidated mech.

But even he had to stop in the berth room doorway for a couple of minutes and watch Prowl listlessly pick at his datapad. While Long Haul was standing there, Prowl even  _looked up_  and  _saw_  him, and then had the gall to look back at his datapad without so much as acknowledging Long Haul, much less inviting him in. Rude, glitchy little fragger. Made him want to knock Prowl across the head.

But that was why Long Haul was here, wasn’t it? Because he already had.

Long Haul finally worked up the nerve to come in. “Hey. Prowl.”

Prowl looked up. He looked so tired, mouth straight and tight with tension, and Long Haul understood now in a way he hadn’t before that the frown they usually saw on Prowl wasn’t a real frown so much as just the way his face looked, because this was the real deal and it was so much harder to look at. The dent in Prowl’s face didn’t help matters.

Prowl didn’t say anything. Rude glitch. After a moment, Long Haul decided the fact that Prowl was looking at him was as good as he was going to get.

“Gotta talk to you,” he said gruffly, like it was an order rather than a question, but he still waited (far too long) for Prowl to realize that Long Haul was waiting for feedback, and nod. “About… ‘bout your…” He faltered. He didn’t know why.

“About when you socked me in the face?” Prowl asked matter-of-factly.

“Yeah!” Long Haul said. “Yeah, that. About when I socked ya in the face.”

Prowl nodded, and waited.

Long Haul had things he needed to say. But instead, they came out as questions. Not because he didn’t know the answers, but because he needed confirmation. “You let me punch ya, didn’t you?”

Prowl nodded.

“You  _made_  me punch ya, didn’t you? On purpose. With what you said—that was deliberated.”

Prowl nodded again.

“Why?”

Prowl shared none of Long Haul’s trouble with grappling for words. “Because I deserved it.”

“You  _deserved_  it?”

“What you were saying. You were right.”

That wasn’t the answer Long Haul had expected. “… Huh.” In a way, the answer relieved him.

Prowl didn’t say anything. He just waited, his gaze fixed somewhere around Long Haul’s chest, near-ish but not quite meeting his gaze.

“… S'all, I guess,” Long Haul said. Prowl nodded one last time, and looked back down at his datapad.

As Long Haul left, he couldn’t help but feel like he was supposed to have said something else.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl reaches out; Tarantulas snips at him; things begin to stabilize.

Prowl

> Prowl is tired.
> 
> That's no surprise. He's been tired for... weeks, now, hasn't it been? Weeks. Tired of moving, of thinking, of acting. Honestly he's probably been tired for far longer than that, but he'd had reasons to push through the exhaustion, then. Now?
> 
> ... Well. Prowl's just tired.
> 
> But recently, he had a... a jolt. From Metroplex. Not enough to stop him from being tired, but enough to wake him up a little. And currently, he's tired of being tired. He wants to—feel. Something. Something else.
> 
> And so, desperately, he reaches out for something, anything else.
> 
> Ping.
> 
> «Why are your feet orange, anyway?»

Tarantulas

> Prowl just reached out in exactly the wrong direction. Emotionally labile as Tarantulas was, contacting him was often like playing mood roulette – and this time the ball ended up in the “royally irritated” slot.
> 
> «They’re **saffron** , but - what does it matter to _you_?» And then, before Prowl could speak up again: «Is it because it doesn’t fit the _color scheme_? Because that’s the last thing I want to be reminded about right now, I _know_ already.»

Prowl

> A moment of puzzled silence. «... It doesn't matter, I suppose. It just... I was just curious.»
> 
> Yes, it _was_ because it didn't fit the color scheme. But if Tarantulas didn't want to be reminded, Prowl wasn't going to confirm his question. He was just, going to slide by it. «If you know it doesn't fit the color scheme, and you apparently dislike it enough that you don't want to be reminded, then why are they saffron?»

Tarantulas

> «Because they _had_ to be, obviously. It was too much of a pain to invent a paint that actually adheres to the alloy I made them from, so – _saffron_. Is that a sufficiently satisfactory explanation?» Snippy, snippy. Yeesh.

Prowl

> «Yes.» Beat. «... No. Why are your feet the only part of you made out of that alloy?»

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to decide how much effort he wants to invest in this unexpected conversation.
> 
> «... _Density_. The density of the alloy is higher, which makes it optimal for grounding components, and less desirable for an already top-heavy frame. Calculations concluded that having solely and specifically my _feet_ composed of the alloy was sufficient to assist in balance without adding mass that would unnecessarily weigh me down.»

Prowl

> «I see.»
> 
> ... That hadn't lasted as long as Prowl had wanted. How could he drag this out more. «... So that's the natural metal color?»

Tarantulas

> Hm. Prowl was… actually still curious? That was unusual, as of late.
> 
> «Yes, it is. Not an _awful_ color, and close enough to the hue of my visor to have a dash of vertical complement, but still.» A pause, then he added: «And before you ask, my _visor_ is yellow because it’s the midpoint wavelength of my vision and interferes with color perception the least.»

Prowl

> He had, as it so happened, wondered about his visor too. Almost considered asking about it instead of the feet, in fact. But he'd been slightly more curious about the feet.
> 
> Not that the conversational topic made a difference in anything, he supposed.
> 
> «... Then why not a white visor? Or clear.»

Tarantulas

> «You’re so full of _questions_ , Prowl.» It was hard to tell just from Tarantulas’s tone whether he meant that in a good or bad way. «A clear visor would defeat nearly every reason for having a visor in the first place – an HUD could be seen from the outside, there’d be no way to obscure optic contact, it doesn’t have the same aesthetic – on and on. Not to mention the way a conventional visor works requires at least _one_ color to be blocked in order for the HUD to be visible – which also nixes white as an option then, too.
> 
> «Besides, a _white_ visor with _my_ color scheme? Really?»

Prowl

> Wasn't Prowl usually full of questions? Why comment on it now? It must have been annoying Tarantulas. Prowl deflated slightly. Which was a bit of a feat, since he hadn't come into the conversation very inflated. «... Should I stop?»
> 
> Despite the fact that Tarantulas had, indeed, thoroughly answered Prowl's question, Prowl was going to assume that the questions _were_ annoying. No more, then. Just answer Tarantulas's. «White would interfere with color perception the least. That's the only reason I asked about it.»

Tarantulas

> «What? Nono, it’s perfectly fine, it’s just –» …How could he say “you’ve been monosyllabic for the past week or so, where the heck did this come from” without sounding rude? «– just a comment. Do keep them coming, I’m – well, I am busy, but I’m just plating, conversation’s not a distraction.
> 
> «But – yes, at least one wavelength needs to be interfered with, so no white.»

Prowl

> Prowl wasn't entirely certain. Probably Tarantulas _was_ annoyed, but didn't want to say so to his precious Prowl.
> 
> Still, though. He didn't want to get off yet. He wanted more excuses to keep talking. So... «... Busy with what?»

Tarantulas

> Did it matter whether Tarantulas was annoyed or not? Take him at his word, Prowl. _Not_ taking him at his word would make him even _more_ annoyed.
> 
> «Plating – that is, plating plates. Err, petri dishes. …How much do you know about microbiology?»

Prowl

> «Absolutely nothing, beyond what little you've told me concerning your own anatomy. Certainly not that plates were involved.»

Tarantulas

> It was so refreshing to hear Prowl speaking in full sentences again – but what had prompted the change? Probably best not to ask immediately and risk pushing him back again linguistically.
> 
> «Hyeh, I haven’t told you anything about _micro_ , it’s been all macro, if I remember correctly. Micro corresponds to microbes – microorganisms – organisms smaller than approximately… maybe 50 micrometers, I’d say. There’s no _official_ definition for how small an organism has to be, now that I think about it…» A meandering train of thought tugged Tarantulas away for a moment before he came back. «Ah, but – yes. Petri dishes – that’s why I was asking. They’re small disc-like containers for the incubation of microorganism growth on a flat, nutritious surface.»

Prowl

> Prowl had a half dozen questions he could ask about that. How did they get so small? How did they survive? Were they like scraplets? What kind was he growing? Why? How was—
> 
> —but he shouldn't, should he? Tarantulas had already called him out for asking too many questions. And the LAST person who'd thought Prowl was asking him too much about work hadn't had the guts to outright say so, had he?
> 
> The silence stretched on just a little bit longer than it should have. «... Mhmm?»
> 
> He couldn't ASK Tarantulas for more. He hoped that—that making noise at him would be enough to encourage him to keep talking.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t sure what to make of that tiny silence, but once he was prompted on – well, that was at least positive, wasn’t it? Maybe he ought to be more explicit – maybe ask _Prowl_ questions…? He’d keep that in mind.
> 
> «Right now I’m plating E. coli – a bacteria, probably… oh, maybe one or two micrometers in size, if that helps you visualize how small.» Some noises of plastic and glass clattering repetitively in the background. «They’re wonderfully versatile in general but in particular useful for plasmid preparation. Do you know what DNA is? RNA?»

Prowl

> Tarantulas was still talking? He didn't want to leave the moment Prowl stopped asking questions? Good.
> 
> «I can visualize it.» It was absurdly small. How did anything that small survive?
> 
> DNA? «Nnnnn...» Pause. «Yyy...» Pause. «... Some kind of organic coding language?»

Tarantulas

> Ask him those silent questions, Prowl. You know you want to.
> 
> «Roughly yes, hyeh. Wait, didn’t we – we _did_ talk about genetics when we were discussing my transgenic experiments, didn’t we. That’s actually part of why I’m doing the plating in the first place – so I can use the bacteria to mass-produce plasmids that can be used to splice coding into other organisms’ genomes. It’s the nitty-gritty of how the whole modification process works, really. …In all honesty I really oughtn’t be doing such trivial steps myself, I ought to have it automated, but the procedural nature of it is strangely soothing if I’m – well. If I have need of it.»

Prowl

> «We did, yes. A little.» Plasmids?  Splicing coding? How would automating work? Why was doing it himself soothing? «... Mm.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas would have had so many things to say for each of those questions… Alas. Well, if Prowl wasn’t going to be upfront and vocal, Tarantulas would pick up the slack.
> 
> «…Is… is there any particular reason why you’ve drifted into reticence, by the way? Would you like me to continue talking?»

Prowl

> Now Tarantulas was questioning Prowl for NOT drowning him in questions. Prowl wouldn't be in this situation if he'd kept his mouth shut in the first place. «... Doesn't matter.» Doesn't matter, doesn't matter. «I— If you want to.»

Tarantulas

> «Only if _you_ want to, and generally – well. In conversational interaction, silence is taken as a cue that the other person _doesn’t_ want to talk. Don’t let me _steamroll_ you, h-hyeh.»

Prowl

> «N... no, you're not... "steamrolling."» Prowl was afraid HE was steamrolling. «I just... don't want to...»
> 
> A pause. It's taking him longer than it usually does to put words together.
> 
> «I'm sure you're not interested in my calling you to just talk about work.»

Tarantulas

> «Don’t want to _what_?» A moment of confused silence.
> 
> «I’ve no idea where you’re getting the evidence to back up such a claim. I’d talk to you about _anything_ , Prowl. I’d talk to you about conspiracy theories of Luna-2 being made of cheese, or just reciting pi or pinging the Fibonacci sequence back and forth, which, might I remind you, we’ve actually partially _done_ , or even apparently talk you through one of the most _boring_ lab shifts I’ve had in weeks. Talking about work is _well_ within the range of things I’d love to discuss. Unless there’s something else you’d rather talk about? _Anything_ you want to talk about. You know my shtick, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «... I've been told.» That's where he's getting his evidence. «That it's... it's... undesirable. Unpleasant. Unwanted.» Choose whatever you think fits best. «By someone who— Considering your intentions toward me— He had the same intentions. He—considered such conversations to be beneath his desired relationship category. As you have objected to labels you consider beneath your desired relationship category.
> 
> «You don't have to say you want to talk about work if you don't want to. I'm not exactly going to get frustrated and cut you out of my life if we don't—if we don't discuss plasmids and gene splicing, of all things.» He expected that would be the fear that kept Tarantulas on the line.

Tarantulas

> _Told_? Someone – romantically interested? – told Prowl they didn’t want to talk about their work? That was – «Ridiculous. What’s the point of any sort of a relationship, no matter the category, if you can’t just _talk_? Especially if we’re _friends_ , and we’re talking about _work_. And this is – well, let’s just put it this way – not talking about work would nix just about 99% of my life, considering how much of my work is play and vice versa.
> 
> «Plasmids and gene splicing don’t have to be discussed, but believe me, I’d orally compose an entire review series on the primary, secondary, and tertiary protein composition of every restriction enzyme I’ve ever used if you showed an interest – and I’d answer every background question and elaborate on every request for more information, all with relish and utmost delight.
> 
> «And if you dare doubt me on that, I'm going to take it as a _personal challenge_.»

Prowl

> «I—well—that's what _I_ think about it, but...» But Prowl was used to not thinking like anyone else. «... but he didn't.»
> 
> But Tarantulas _did_ think like Prowl. So he said. «Even if it's...? I know it applies when we're talking about things _we're_ working on,» that had always been the case, «but, even if it's... not something I'm _inspiring_ you on?»
> 
> Relish and utmost delight, huh?
> 
> Silence.
> 
> «... If I say I don't believe you, will you tell me what a restriction enzyme is?»

Tarantulas

> «Well that’s rude of him.» A huff. «Yes, everything. That is to say, I’d let you know if I’d rather not talk about something, but honestly there’s very little I _wouldn’t_ , especially if you were curious.
> 
> «You don’t _have_ to doubt me, Prowl, you need only ask.» Some more light clattering and shuffling noises on Tarantulas’ end. «Hyeh, I’ll give you this one without a fuss though. Restriction enzymes are endonucleases that cleave DNA according to a particular sequence – minuscule site-specific scissors, if you will. There are over three thousand of them and they can be fiddly sometimes, so I frequently use CRISPR methods instead, but that comes with its own benefits and losses as well.»

Prowl

> «... Is it rude? How? I can't know a person doesn't want to have certain conversations with me if they don't tell me.» Prowl couldn't fix behavior that he didn't know was wrong, after all.
> 
> «No, I—I know I don't have to, I was— it was a joke. It didn't work.» Never mind it. He'd just listen. And it was such a relief to listen—to hear Tarantulas rattle off things Prowl couldn't even begin to understand... «What are endonucleases? And "crisper" methods?»
> 
> He would keep listening as long as Tarantulas wanted to talk.

Tarantulas

> But Prowl’s behavior _wasn’t_ wrong, at least in Tarantulas’s opinion. However, Tarantulas had already latched onto Prowl’s questions and sprinted off into the distance with them.
> 
> «Oh? Endonucleases are simply enzymes that cut within DNA strands. “Endo” for internally, “nuclear” for their location, and “ase” for their function, that is -»
> 
> And Tarantulas would talk as long as Prowl wanted to listen, of course. That left them in a virtually never-ending cycle that seemed to be becoming a habit as of late.


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl comes over; cuddles commence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spawned from a meme prompt resulting in Tarantulas refusing to sleep, and requiring another muse to come drag him off to bed.

Prowl

> He achieves the dragging-to-bed through... what else, but emotional manipulation. «If I send my avatar to your lab, could I spend the night?»

Tarantulas

> «You -  _what_? How? I mean, of course you can, but aren’t you banned from - and even if you  _could_  -»

Prowl

> «My ban on using my holomatter avatar has been lifted. For now.» Prowl was sure it wouldn’t last. 

Tarantulas

> «How? Why? But even then - your tech can’t possibly reach  _this_  far, can it?»

Prowl

> «Starscream decided I’m useful again. Doesn’t matter. It reached that far when I—when we…» He tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it. Never mind; Prowl didn’t deserve delicate phrasing. «When we interrogated you.»

Tarantulas

> «But that’s not my  _lab_. I suppose I could come there anyhow, but you’ll have to explain more about what’s going on with Starscream before I even so much as  _pretend_ to try to recharge.» 

Prowl

> Pause.
> 
> «… So what  _is_  your lab? And is it within four hundred miles of my cell.»

Tarantulas

> «It’s - hyeh, I can’t believe you’ve never asked about this before, but - it’s the Tor, which unfortunately is nowhere  _near_  within that range… It’s in the Noisemaze, Prowl.» 

Prowl

> A longer pause.
> 
> «… Why the hell is your lab in the Noisemaze.»

Tarantulas

> « _Pft_. Why not? It’s not like I’ve got any other pocket universes I could build a lab in.»

Prowl

> «Because mere exposure to it drives mechs insane. I can’t imagine you get much work done in there?»
> 
> Why do you hang out in there, Tarantulas? Prowl is worried.

Tarantulas

> «This is where I get  _all_  of my work done, Prowl.» The wry amusement in his vocals was almost tangible. «The Tor itself is isolated from the onslaught crashing around outside - it’s where the harmonic dissonance generator _lives_ , the linchpin that holds it all together in the first place. It’s perfectly safe, rest assured. I’ve been living here for ages.» 

Prowl

> «Huh.» If he were in better shape, he’d be  _intensely_  curious.
> 
> As it was, though, he was just tired. «Yeah, that’ll work.»

Tarantulas

> It was probably for the best that Prowl was tired - because Tarantulas was tired too, and sleepy spiders meant spilled secrets about things he’d probably rather not divulge.
> 
> «Hyeheh,  _that’ll work_ , he says…» An unseen shake of his helm. «Yes, do come over, please. You’ll be able to see how it all works yourself once you get here. Although, let me… hm… where  _did_ I leave my pack, last time I…»
> 
> Cue Tarantulas rummaging around his lab looking for where he’d last left his holomatter equipment pack.

Prowl

> «What? That  _will_  work.»
> 
> Prowl waited as Tarantulas rummaged. «Holomatter pack?» That’s what he hoped, anyway. «I just carry my projector in me. Does that not work for you?»

Tarantulas

> «Yyyes, that,» Tarantulas hummed, all ten of his arms busy poking around for the lost pack. «I  _used_ to, but I kept taking it out so many times in order to tweak the hardware that I just  _left_ it out. Besides, that means I can use the holo itself to take the pack places without  _me_ having to -
> 
> «- Ah! Yes, here we are.» Out came the tiny thing from under a pile of scrap metal, then from claw to claw to paw so he could switch it on and set it on a counter. Then Tarantulas pinged Prowl a link to the projector’s comm. «Feel free to hop on over whenever you’re ready.»

Prowl

> «That sounds like an easy way to lose it.» Which, in fact, it sounded like Tarantulas had done.
> 
> But Tarantulas found it, and that was what mattered. The moment Prowl had the invitation, he appeared. And immediately started looking around for a level surface to pass out on. “Where’s the berth?”

Tarantulas

> Prowl had appeared in the main lab area of the Tor, a large room cluttered with lab tables, mysterious massive equipment, assorted smaller implements, and scattered pieces of so many different projects. Sadly there weren’t any clear level surfaces, but there _was_ a silken hammock in one corner where Tarantulas usually napped.
> 
> Prowl didn’t have much of a chance to poke around though – Tarantulas was immediately on top of him, wrapping his arms around the avatar and clutching him close.
> 
> A nuzzle to Prowl’s helm. “In my berthroom of course, but -” A bit of mumbling, something about “can’t believe we hadn’t done this before” and some purring.

Prowl

> Under different circumstances, he might have resented not being given a chance to look around Tarantulas’s massive new lab and ask him about every piece of fabulous new equipment he could see.
> 
> Right now, as he glanced over the furniture, the only thing that registered was that nothing he saw looked like a berth.
> 
> As soon as Tarantulas wrapped around him, Prowl turned away from the room, pressing his face into Tarantulas’s chest. He couldn’t feel the fuzz quite like he usually did—it was indistinct and blurred together. But it was soft.
> 
> “Fine.” Prowl wrapped his arms around Tarantulas’s waist. “Berthroom.” Prowl wondered vaguely why Tarantulas hadn’t just put the projector in the berth room to begin with so they wouldn’t have to travel, but—didn’t matter.

Tarantulas

> Prowl would have plenty of time to ask Tarantulas questions about the lab later - first came mandatory snuggles. They hadn’t seen each other in -  _how_  long? too long - and since physical affection was allowed, it came first.
> 
> “No,” Tarantulas purred, still holding Prowl tight. “We stay  _here_. Because we’re staying awake, because I have things to do. If you really  _must_ , I  _suppose_  you’re allowed to lie in the hammock.”

Prowl

> Time’s irrelevant; it’s the interest that isn’t there. He’d rather have the snuggles—clinging to Tarantulas like his life depended on it.
> 
> “I’m  _not_  staying awake,” Prowl said, muffled against Tarantulas’s chest. “I came here to  _sleep._  With  _you._  Did I not express that clearly enough?” He probably didn’t. He was too tired to check his recordings and see. “If I’m going to be sleeping alone, I can shut off my avatar and go do it on something properly horizontal at home.”

Tarantulas

> “No - nonono.  _Please_  don’t leave, you’ve only just arrived.” Tarantulas held on just as tightly as Prowl did, as if that’d actually prevent the avatar from disappearing if Prowl so chose. “I - hhrmm… Give me  _two_  minutes. I can put things on hold, and - I’m sure the hammock will be more comfortable than the berth, for the two of us together. Besides, I avoid flat berths in this frame if I can help it, the weight of the metal on underlying organic sections is -”
> 
> Tarantulas rambled on and on from there, as long as Prowl would permit - a key sign that he was  _definitely_  in need of recharge.

Prowl

> “I don’t  _want_  to leave. But I  _do_  want to sleep.” The tightened grip only dully registered as a slight increase in pressure—and it occurred to Prowl how  _safe_  he was like this. Nothing could hurt him. No one could reach into his mind or tear him apart if he wasn’t physically there. He could do anything.
> 
> Including sleeping with Tarantulas without a resentful Constructicon chaperone. Which was why he’d proposed this, of course. But still—the  _freedom_  of it struck him now like it hadn’t before.
> 
> And all he had to do to make it happen was  _not be there_.
> 
> Prowl will permit the rambling for a little bit. It wasn’t sleep, but it was soothing. But Tarantulas had said he’d be ready in two minutes, so in two minutes Prowl said, “Are things on hold now?”

Tarantulas

> Honestly Tarantulas would have been offended by the fact Prowl didn’t feel safe enough to recharge around him alone, but fortunately it didn’t come up.
> 
> _Nothing_  relevant really came up, actually, just aimless rambling while Tarantulas stroked Prowl’s helm for two minutes. Not that he was counting though, apparently.
> 
> “Wh - no? I -” A belated glance around, and ever-so-reluctantly Tarantulas let go of Prowl. “I suppose I ought to get on that, hyeh. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable in the hammock if you like - although I  _was_  thinking of cutting slits in it for your doors if you found that lying on your back was uncomfortable, so do test that out for me?”
> 
> As he was talking, Tarantulas was already off around the room checking on this and that, making adjustments and turning things off - not that Prowl would have any clue what he was doing.

Prowl

> “They’ll be fine.” Prowl’s doors were incorporated into his shoulders in this particular frame. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do with them, but it certainly made it easier to lay down without things poking everywhere.
> 
> No, it was the rest of Prowl that he was concerned about fitting into the hammock. While Tarantulas was turning equipment off, Prowl approached it cautiously. He’d never been in a hammock before. He had no idea how to get in.
> 
> Cautiously, he attempted to climb in.
> 
> It tangled one leg and his back landed on the floor. “Rff.”

Tarantulas

> Of course Tarantulas immediately dropped everything to run back over and see what’d happened - only to find Prowl half-sprawled on the floor, with a foot and tire caught up in the silken hammock. Not the most dignified sight, but definitely strangely adorable, at least as far as Tarantulas was concerned.
> 
> “ _Prowl_ , oh Prowl…” Deft paws and claws set to work untangling the hammock and slicing at threads when necessary. “Tsk tsk, what am I even going to  **do** with you, I can’t leave you alone for  _two seconds_ …”
> 
> And then Prowl’s leg was free, with Tarantulas letting it down carefully to join the rest of him on the floor. However, he wasn’t there long - Tarantulas decided to simply scoop Prowl up off the floor and plop him in the hammock. 
> 
> “Do make yourself comfortable now - but  _please_  don’t fall out.” And with a few lingering touches to the avatar’s frame, Tarantulas was off again, finishing up the last bits of work around the lab.

Prowl

> “You don’t have to—” Too late, Tarantulas was cutting threads. Well. Now that Tarantulas had damaged his things, Prowl decided maybe it’d be a better idea  _not_  to remind Tarantulas that he could have just turned his hologram off and back on to get free. “Don’t be condescending. I fell; I’m not helpless.” He says from flat on his back.
> 
> When Tarantulas joined him on the floor, Prowl clung to him. He didn’t protest as Tarantulas picked him up and put him in the hammock—but he  _did_  grip him to try to keep him from pulling away.
> 
> Only for a moment, though. Tarantulas needed to shut things off, probably so they wouldn’t explode; and if Prowl held on while he pulled away, he’d probably just flip the hammock and end up on the floor.
> 
> So he let go, and waited.
> 
> … While holding still, so he didn’t lose balance.
> 
> Very,  _very_  still.

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas  _didn’t_  have to cut the threads, but it helped him keep up the personal illusion that Prowl was actually there and not just an avatar. Besides - well, Prowl would see.
> 
> “It’s called  _teasing_ , Prowl love. You’re far from helpless, I’m  _well_  aware.” Some humming from across the room again, but quickly enough the humming was gone and Tarantulas himself was back. “It might help a little if I add another tether though - hold on…”
> 
> Prowl literally could hold on if he wanted to; Tarantulas stood right up against the hammock and held it in position with a few arms while he went about constructing the third tether. Silk from one wrist shot out toward the most opportune wall, then was manipulated. triangulated, and laced up in a matter of moments. 
> 
> A pleased “There!” - and with that, Tarantulas simply flopped forward over the hammock, lying across Prowl’s midsection. The structure still swung a little, but not enough to dislodge either of them for now.

Prowl

> “‘Teasing’ is insults mixed with flirting. I dislike being insulted and I like it even less when it’s mixed in with something that’s  _supposed_  to be positive.” And if there were times when he  _could_  tolerate it, now certainly wasn’t one of them.
> 
> The moment Tarantulas was back, Prowl held onto him again—but more gently this time; not clinging, simply resting a servo on his hip. His gaze wasn’t as keen as it was supposed to be, but he still watched as Tarantulas set up another tether.
> 
> He started as Tarantulas fell on him. But once he was convinced that the tethers weren’t going to snap and drop them to the ground, he wriggled under Tarantulas, scooting until he could get his arms around Tarantulas’s waist again. Sort of. “… This  _can’t_  be a comfortable position for you.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t quite agree with Prowl on his definition of teasing, but for once he let it drop, partially distracted by that hand on his hip and then the wriggling beneath him. Was it just him, or was Prowl being a tad touchier than usual? Not that Tarantulas minded, of course.
> 
> He gave his own lazy wiggle in response. “Hyeh, well it’s not **_un_** comfortable, but I was hardly planning on sleeping like this.” A pleasant sigh and a few moments’ pause, but eventually Tarantulas pulled himself up off Prowl again so they could rearrange.
> 
> Settling into the hammock together didn’t actually end up being too terribly hard, once Tarantulas and his many guiding arms were in control. There were a few to hold the hammock still, a few to nudge Prowl over into _just_ the right spot, and plenty of paws and claws to hook onto threads and support Tarantulas as he climbed up and settled himself down, deliberately askew and sprawled across Prowl.
> 
> Tarantulas’s vocalizer purred as he made some final adjustments, nuzzling against the side of Prowl’s helm. “Now, _this_ , this is much more satisfactory.” Arms wrapped around Prowl wherever they could, both in and outside of the hammock.

Prowl

> Once again, Prowl tried to grasp at Tarantulas as he retreated—but weakly. He knew, after all, that Tarantulas was coming right back.
> 
> And come right back Tarantulas did. Prowl watched how Tarantulas carefully hooked into the hammock as he climbed in, and allowed Tarantulas to manipulate him, pliable and uncomplaining.
> 
> When Tarantulas was finally positioned, Prowl wrapped his arms around his back, and nuzzled Tarantulas back.
> 
> Such a strange sensation—something light and flexible stretched under him, nothing solid holding him up. In holomatter it was even harder to feel—it felt like floating, even though he could feel gravity orienting him. He didn’t like it.
> 
> But Tarantulas was all around him, and Prowl could swear he’d had a dream like this.
> 
> “Mm.” That’s as close as Prowl is getting to an agreement. He bent his legs between Tarantulas’s knees and tugged Tarantulas closer.

Tarantulas

> Prowl really should get that holomatter avatar looked into; there really was no excuse in Tarantulas’s opinion to have his sensory quality _that_ low.
> 
> Later, though. As soon as Tarantulas curled around Prowl, sleepiness bowled him over like a freight train. But damn it all, Tarantulas was going to try his hardest to stay conscious for as much of these snuggles as he could.
> 
> He gave a small pleased noise as Prowl pulled him closer, letting him do whatever he liked now that Tarantulas himself was suitably in place. He _felt_ like he should say something, but Primus, it was so _hard_ to scrounge up the words with his brain module so sleep-deprived… It was times like these when Tarantulas vaguely wished he still had a readable EMF to just pulse out what he was feeling, but alas. 

Prowl

> No great loss; Prowl wouldn’t be able to interpret an EMF pulse anyway.
> 
> He got settled, he turned off his optics; but he didn’t quite fall asleep. He just drifted toward dozing, a fraction of him still awake to keep his avatar going—and to keep feeling Tarantulas wrapped around him.
> 
> He could stay here a few hours.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas tried to maintain a doze as well, but within minutes he slipped right off the edge of consciousness and fell headlong into a deep recharge. He  _had_ sorely needed it, no matter how much he’d protested.
> 
> A deep sleeper he may be, but he wasn’t  _dead_  asleep - every once in a while he gave a small hum or churr, or maybe shifted and squeezed Prowl just a tiny bit more. He’d keep it up like that for a good five hours, given Prowl stuck around that long.

Prowl

> Prowl will still be there, holding tight.
> 
> He may not be fully recharging, but it’s still the best rest he’s gotten in weeks.


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hook and Tarantulas have a chat; neither are satisfied with the results.

Hook

> For all that Hook cared, Tarantulas could rot. Him and his stupid, pretentious, self-obsessed, "ooh look at me I actually got to go to medical school, and I wasted everything I learned there on fusing myself with vermin" slag. Which was why, even after he'd looked over the specs for Tarantulas's proposed spark augmentation procedure, he'd let it sit there instead of comming Tarantulas back. If it were up to him, he would've KEPT making Tarantulas wait. Make the bug call HIM and beg for HIS opinion. Tarantulas should be so lucky as to be graced with his expert opinion.
> 
> But—Prowl had come up to Hook. And he'd asked if Hook had looked over the files, and if he'd talked to Tarantulas about them yet.
> 
> Long Haul had knocked a fist-shaped dent into Prowl's head a month ago, and Prowl hadn't peeped a word to Hook about getting it repaired. He didn't care about his own damage. But he'd cared enough about fixing Springer to drag himself out of his room and ask Hook about it.
> 
> If it mattered that much to Prowl...
> 
> Well. Hook guessed he was calling Tarantulas now, wasn't he?
> 
> Ping.

Tarantulas

> Give it another day or two – or even a matter of hours, really – and Tarantulas would have commed Hook himself, just like the sulky widget wanted. Sure, Tarantulas did have plenty of other things to occupy his time, but this was _Ostaros_ they were talking about here. (No, _Springer_. It was Springer now. Rgh.) Tarantulas wasn’t about to wait a couple hundred years for a reply, not when Springer’s health was on the line.
> 
> Thankfully he didn’t have to wait any longer though; neither did Hook, who got a prompt ping mirrored back at him, then a comm.
> 
> «Ah, Hook – do tell me this is about the spark augmentation files?»

Hook

> «Yeah. S'about them.»
> 
> And then silence. He might have commed Tarantulas first, but he was still going to give Tarantulas the chance to ASK him about them first, before he just had to OFFER his opinion. Little victories.

Tarantulas

> A beat. «What _about_ them? I presume you found everything satisfactory and agree we’re ready to proceed?»

Hook

> Ah, there it was. The moment he'd been waiting for. Tarantulas asking for his opinion. He basked in it.
> 
> And then he said, «Naw. It sucks.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had only asked Hook’s opinion because Prowl had made it mandatory, mind you. Whatever Hook was basking in was pretty artificially produced.
> 
> Tarantulas’s scoff, however, was not artificial in the least. « _Hyah,_ funny, very funny. How droll. Go on, what is it?»

Hook

> «He ain't gonna be able to handle the process. You know why we only made Phase Sixers outta point one percenters? Anything less woulda died. Can't take the strain. And you ain't done slag to protect the Wrecker from that strain.»

Tarantulas

> «Wh – that’s the whole _point_ of the augmentation process – to protect Springer! You’re talking nonsense – and if you’re not, I – well, go on, but be prepared to supply sufficiently-hard evidence and receipts to back up your claims.»

Hook

> «Yeah? Well it ain't gonna protect nothing if you're doin' it like that. Listen, half the files on the whole Phase Sixer project are top secret classified—and all the mechs that coulda DEclassified them are either dead or switched sides—so you're gonna have to trust what I remember hearin' people say about it, and what I heard was them sayin' Megatron couldn't take the process. MEGATRON couldn't take it. And his spark output has been augmented as far as we could take it. Just augmentin' Springer's spark ain't gonna do the job.»

Tarantulas

> Trust  _Hook_? Hhmph.
> 
> «If you’re quite sufficiently knowledgeable about Megatron’s spark augmentations and their apparent shortcomings, I’d  _love_ to hear about what they might be and how my proposed plans for augmenting Springer’s spark - tried and true ones, mind you - are apparently going to fall sorely short as well.»

Hook

> «Uh-uh. Doctor-patient confidentiality. I ain’t tellin’ you about Megatron’s spark.
> 
> «Yeah, your augmentations might be tried and true on  _somethin’,_  but it ain’t  _ununtrium._  I ain’t sayin’ they won’t give your Wrecker’s spark some extra punch, but punch ain’t what you need. You need  _shielding._
> 
> «I’ll tell ya something that  _will_  work—dark matter fission cell in his power core. Sixshot was on the border of bein’ compatible so we stuck one in him, and he had no problems takin’ the ununtrium. Considerin’ the likely stats Springer’s spark’s got—Prowl’s explained all that to me—he’s probably already livin’ past the peak of his potential, size-wise; combine that with the fact that he’ll be comin’ straight outta life support with a zero point, and to get him through the ununtrium process he might need two, maaaybe three fission cells. His chest’s big, as long as he don’t plan on takin’ the Matrix he’s got plenty of room.»

Tarantulas

> « _Doctor-patient confidentiality_ ,» Tarantulas repeated incredulously. Those were definitely words he hadn’t expected to hear out of Hook’s mouth.
> 
> …Words which were followed by even more words he hadn’t expected. Tarantulas spluttered for a moment as he found his mental footing.
> 
> «That’s absolutely _preposterous_! There’s no way I’m putting a _fission cell_ in Springer’s chest, let alone **three** of them! Besides, there’s absolutely no reason why my proposal would be anything less than highly effective, since it would in essence raise his _internal_ defenses and extend his spark’s peak potential on a fundamental level, instead of throwing external _patches_ on a core that’s not damaged in the first place.»

Hook

> « _Yeah_. Doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe you  _skipped_  that lesson, ya dropout.» Which Hook still resents him for.
> 
> «There sure as frag  _is_  a reason, or I wouldn’t’ve brought it up! Boostin’ his spark’s output is worthless on this procedure. The fact that you used it successfully to let a bot perform mass-displacement sequences don’t mean  _nothin’_ , that procedure’s easy enough that if I wanted I could talk Astrotrain through doin’ the surgery on his own spark over the phone. All mass-displacement needs to work is a lotta spare energy.  _This_  is ununtrium. Ununtrium  _attacks_  the system.
> 
> «You’re basically givin’ his spark a blaster and sayin’ if he ever needs to defend himself, he can just shoot it so fast the blasts form an energy shield. That’s slag. A strong offense ain’t a substitute for a solid defense,  _civilian_ —and that’s all you’re givin’ him.»

Tarantulas

> «Did you even  _read_  any of the text I sent with the schematics? It’s - it’s hardly just spare energy - the effects on the spark once it’s incorporated -»
> 
> Tarantulas cut himself off with a loud, indignant hiss. «You know  _nothing_  about the process in actuality. And to the pits with you and your  _battle metaphors_ , this isn’t war, it’s an immensely delicate and tenuous  _dance_  if anything, both with the surgery and with the ununtrium binding! If you knew scrap about the binding anyhow you’d have provided the information upfront - and if you actually  _do_  and didn’t say - you’re veritably -»
> 
> **No** , no threats, not toward people Prowl would get defensive over. Tarantulas had been there and suffered the darkly disapproving consequences already. A shaking silence followed as he struggled to rein himself in.
> 
> «I’m  **not**  putting a fission cell in Springer’s chest. _End of story_.»

Hook

> «Yeah, yeah, yeah, I read the damn thing, I get how it works. It’s not gonna be enough. You’re STILL gonna be puttin’ the burden on his spark instead of shielding his spark from the burden.»
> 
> Hook bristled defensively. «Like FRAG do I know nothing! Maybe I can’t build the damn machine that makes it happen but I sure as hell know what it does to a body! To the pits with you and your _dance metaphors_ , you’re about to drown his spark in radiation and you can’t waltz out of that.»
> 
> Stupid, arrogant know-it-all. He knew how to build a fancy machine that could spray star sludge on someone's protoform and suddenly he knew Hook's job better than Hook himself. «Fine. Your patient, your funeral. Ain't my problem if you think you know more than the expert.»

Tarantulas

> «That’s not the way it _works_.» Another hiss, but Tarantulas was done with details. Just – done.
> 
> «Well, it’s not my problem if you’re deluding yourself into believing you’re – that you’re the only expert.» He’d been about to say “that you’re an expert in _anything_ ,” but he could restrain himself just enough not to ruin the situation entirely.
> 
> «Yes, thank you, he _is_ my patient, my – the fragging **opposite** of a funeral. He’s _Ostaros_.» From _Eostre_ ; new life, after all. Springer was going to awaken, and Tarantulas was going to see to it that he did so without a damn fission cell in his chest.

Hook

> «He ain't Ostaros no more. That's your problem, bug. You think the fact you made him means you know everything about him—from his name to how it's best to upgrade him. Ya don't. And you're gonna get him killed thinkin' ya do.
> 
> «But that's gonna be on your head. All Prowl wanted me to do is give ya my opinion. I'm done here.»

Tarantulas

> «He **_is_** Ostaros underneath all that plating, just like he was and always _will_ be, whether anyone likes it or not! Which is why he's not only going to survive this, he's going to flourish, and I'm not letting you interfere with that. Primus, over **my** dead body.»
> 
> A growl. «You know, now that I think about it, it really must sting that Prowl only trusts you as a _second_ opinion after a so-called 'bug' from a different universe.»

Prowl

> «So ya think that because ya named him, he'll definitely survive. Yeah. Uh-huh. That's definitely how medicine works.
> 
> «You're the scraphead that built him, ain't ya? You're the one that wants to fix him. Of course boss asked you first. It really must sting that boss don't trust you enough to be the ONLY opinion.»

Tarantulas

> «See – I _did_ build him, and that’s why I **know** he’ll survive. The name was merely subsequent.
> 
> «As for the matter of trust – the only reason Prowl is being this careful is because **he** cares so much about Ostaros that he’s the only reason Prowl agreed to work with me again in the first place! Which – _yes_ , I’m aware that takes me down a couple notches in repute, but at least I have notches to be _taken_ , unlike someone who’s wormed their way into Prowl’s life – Prowl’s _head_ – using disgustingly base circumstances that’ll – that –»
> 
> Tarantulas left off with something between a growl and a hiss. «I’m not – not dignifying you with the privilege of this conversation. We’re obviously done here.»
> 
> Click.

Hook

> «Wh— You think—? Hey! You think any of US asked for this? We didn't want it no more than—»
> 
> Too late. Tarantulas was off the line. Hook shouted at nothing, kicked his tool cabinet, and stomped out of his little medibay to shout up at Prowl's level. "Your stupid bug is a piece of slag!"
> 
> "You gave him your advice?"
> 
> "Yeah. Not that he deserves any of it."
> 
> "Thank you."
> 
> Hook grumbled something about how Prowl oughta thank him if he wanted to make it worth all that, and trudged over to flop down in front of the TV.
> 
> There. Duty done. Now he didn't have that weighing on his conscience. If Springer died and Prowl was upset, it was on Tarantulas's head.


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl becomes an impromptu model; Tarantulas hums a tune; everything spirals out of control.

Prowl

> _Ping_. «Can I come over?»

Tarantulas

> Why was Tarantulas’s initial reaction  _panic_?
> 
> …He’d try to figure that out later. Prowl was on the line, and that was more important.
> 
> «You mean, via holomatter? You’re  _always_  welcome to stop by, Prowl, although - is it something in particular, or - ?»

Prowl

> «Yes. Holomatter.» Of course.
> 
> «No. Nothing specific. I just…» Silence. He didn’t finish the thought. «Are you ready for me to come right now? I can access your holomatter generator?»

Tarantulas

> Prowl just  _what_? 
> 
> «Yes, I  _think_  I left it out from last time. Which, if you’re intending to sleep here again, I woke up not too long ago, but - in any case,  _do_  come over, we can chat when you arrive. Same frequency, of course.»

Prowl

> «Doesn’t matter. We don’t have to sleep.»
> 
> And that was the last thing he said before accessing the generator and, hopefully, appearing somewhere he could look around for Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> Thankfully, the generator was still on the counter where Tarantulas had left it, which meant Prowl materialized in the Tor’s main lab. Nothing would seem much different to the untrained optic or audial - still a mess of lab tables, half-finished experiments, and quietly booping, whirring equipment.
> 
> Prowl would find Tarantulas not far off to his left, staring at a mostly-blank wall. On the dark surface were a few spidery white sketches, not quite webs but certainly reminiscent of them, toward which Tarantulas would occasionally step and add another line to with his claw.
> 
> He did pause when Prowl arrived, stepping back for one last look at a sketch before turning his attention to his visitor instead. Needless to say, such attention involved quickly capturing the visitor in a many-armed embrace.
> 
> “ _Prowl_. So lovely to see you again. How are you?”

Prowl

> Again, Prowl largely ignored the lab—even though under normal circumstances he would have been asking a million questions about it—and drifted over toward Tarantulas. He only had a split second to look at Tarantulas’s sketch before he was smothered.
> 
> “Mmph.” He didn’t answer the question. But he did wrap his arms tightly around Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> The arms around him earned Prowl some petting from Tarantulas, as well as a low purring hum. Primus, it was always so  _nice_  to have such an enthusiastic response, and even the touch in the first place, avatar or not.
> 
> “Good to hear, hyeh.” A gentle back scratch with his claws. “Just here to tag along and spectate? I’m not working on anything in particular right now, just doodling, per se.” Not that Tarantulas would let Prowl go so he could actually see the sketches just yet.

Prowl

> Prowl turned his head slightly so he could speak without a mouthful of fur. “More or less.” And he supposed doodles were a good enough place to start as any. “What are you doodling?” Not that he was going to try to extricate himself to find out for himself.

Tarantulas

> Even without the mouthful of fur, Prowl’s voice was still a little muffled by the time it reached Tarantulas’s audials, and if he paid close enough attention he could feel it in his chest too. Perfect.
> 
> …Ah, Prowl had asked him a question. “Silk ornamentation. Web jewelry, if you like. I’ve done so much work with typical web patterns I stopped dreaming about them, but apparently jewelry is fair game. I simply  _woke up_  with this in my head.”
> 
> Pulling away slightly, Tarantulas half-nudged, half-waltzed Prowl into position without letting go, situating them sideways so they could both get an optic-full of the sketches. Three basic frame shapes were draped in arcs of web that were tacked and sometimes looped at artfully chosen points. Each of the three frames displayed an increasingly dense pattern, ranging from delicate string to something more akin to lace.

Prowl

> “… Oh.” Prowl looked over the designs politely. Well, yes, they were… hm.
> 
> He doesn’t understand art.
> 
> Better not comment, he’d just say something stupid. So never mind that, then. He glanced at Tarantulas. “You—get ideas for your projects in your sleep? How often?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t seem to be put off by Prowl’s lack of comment; Prowl’d been taciturn as of late anyhow. However, he  _had_  asked a question, which was obviously more important.
> 
> “Oh, maybe… once every ten recharges? More often if I’ve been getting enough sleep.” A hum, and Tarantulas pulled Prowl close again. “It’s generally nothing of note, trivial things like web patterns and chemical equations, but then again there’s always  _some_ use I can put the new ideas to. Not that they’re really  _new_ , I think. Just downstream results of processing I hadn’t had the capacity to handle during waking hours.”

Prowl

> “Hmm.” Not a bad rate of productivity.
> 
> As Tarantulas spoke, Prowl leaned his face into his chest again. Okay. He’d seen enough art. He just wanted to hear Tarantulas talk now.

Tarantulas

> And talk, Tarantulas would. He’d gotten the hang of just rambling onward for Prowl’s benefit these days. Time to go on petting the back of Prowl’s helm and gently swaying in place while he spoke.
> 
> “It was really only the simplest one there that popped into my head this time, but you know I can’t help myself when it comes to frills and fancies. Besides, it really did remind me of fashion from before the war, so I couldn’t not try to replicate one of my favorite designs, you see.” A gesture toward the middle pattern.
> 
> “…You know, I wouldn’t mind having a live  _test subject_  to try these out on. Well, hyeh. A  _model_ , more accurately speaking.”

Prowl

> Prowl lifted one hand to move Tarantulas’s patting paw from the back of his head to the top of it, and then embraced him again and let him ramble on.
> 
> Prowl had never been into any sort of fashion, but something about the middle design  _did_  seem vaguely familiar. He thought he’d seen something like it on a high-caste mech, done up in chains and wires.
> 
> … Tarantulas meant Prowl, didn’t he? “I wouldn’t mind.” Just a bit of web on top of his armor, right? It’d fall off as soon as Prowl disappeared; he wouldn’t even need to clean it off.

Tarantulas

> What  _was_  it about the lower back of Prowl’s helm…? He really needed to ask someday.
> 
> For now he simply gave a pleased purr. “Splendid. Now which type of silk to use, that’s the question.” And on he rambled about the different types of silk - only three of them passed first muster, and he quickly disqualified yet another.
> 
> Pulling back from Prowl and slipping his paws to Prowl’s shoulders, Tarantulas regarded the frame in front of him. “Maybe… type four. Yes, something a little thicker for better visibility, hm?”

Prowl

> Prowl obediently stood still, letting Tarantulas examine him as he needed. All the silk varieties sounded the same to Prowl. Or rather, they sounded different, yes; but as far as the purposes of fashion were concerned, they all sounded the same.
> 
> “Sure,” Prowl said. If you say so. Doesn’t matter.

Tarantulas

> It was disheartening to practically  _feel_  that “doesn’t matter” in Prowl’s optics, but Tarantulas persisted all the same.
> 
> “Needless to say, you’ll have to hold quite still while I’m at this. I trust you won’t fidget.” A quirk of his visor; Tarantulas was self-aware enough to know this’d be one of those pot-and-kettle situations even if Prowl did wiggle a bit.
> 
> A pause, and then Tarantulas leaned in to plant a flat kiss on Prowl’s lips, along with a brief nip at his chevron. “Now, where to begin…”

Prowl

> “I’m sure I can handle that. Tell me where and how you want me to stand. Or sit.” Was holding  _quite still_  a sincere instruction or was Tarantulas hoping to make a game out of it? He was doing  _something_  with his visor but Prowl couldn’t read it. Prowl considered just positioning his avatar and then freezing it in place so it couldn’t move, but he wasn’t sure if that would ruin any game Tarantulas wanted to play.
> 
> He returned the quick kiss, held still for the nip, and awaited his instructions.

Tarantulas

> Why couldn’t it be both sincere and a game? Not that Tarantulas was thinking about it too hard at the moment, but if Prowl  _did_  wiggle - it’d only be natural for a spider to wrap up its prey, one would think.
> 
> “Hmm - right over…  _here_  should do.” Tarantulas guided Prowl until his back was nearly against the wall - which, upon closer inspection, would prove to be a massive touchscreen console. On the screen to his right the middle pattern sprawled, and with a few flicks of Tarantulas’s paw it was resized and fit to Prowl’s proportions. “Likely I’ll improvise, but this version will be my map, so to speak. You’ve got  _such_  good kibble for it, and the shape…”
> 
> And so he began, starting with Prowl’s helm. It seemed as if, instead of shooting the thread like before, Tarantulas pulled it from his wrist with his claws, and proceeded to lightly touch the clawtips here and there to unhurriedly construct the webbed jewelry. First from the tip of Prowl’s chevron, loosely curved down to the middle crest, then back again, looped, repeated, snipped off… then painstakingly mirrored on the other side with a new thread.
> 
> Strangely Tarantulas had fallen silent as he worked, his visor fixated intently on wherever his clawtips touched. All that Prowl would be able to hear from him would be a soft hum here and there, in turns both approving and disapproving of the silken lines he was creating.

Prowl

> But then how would Tarantulas tell his decorations from Prowl’s bindings? We can’t have that.
> 
> Prowl shuffled around inelegantly as Tarantulas guided him into place, and then held still—back straight, shoulders back, arms loose, feet slightly separated, trying to stand how he imagined a good model must stand. He turned his head to see what Tarantulas was doing on the wall, was mildly surprised to see it was a touch screen—but of  _course_  it was a touch screen, stupid, why would Tarantulas just scratch designs into a perfectly good wall—and spread his feet a little more to match the drawing. Wow, Prowl had good kibble for it. What a surprise. It was almost like Tarantulas had made a design that just so happened to suit the body of the person he was obsessed with.
> 
> When Tarantulas reached for Prowl’s face, he snapped his head forward, and kept it facing straight at him, chin up. Perfectly still.
> 
> He couldn’t even feel whatever Tarantulas was putting on him, but all the same he kept still.

Tarantulas

> Shh, shh.  _Naturally_ the sketch’s likeness to Prowl’s frame had more to do with its commonness among the population and not Tarantulas’s purported obsession.
> 
> A fantastic model, Prowl was. Not only motionless and well-proportioned, but also simply “… _Gorgeous_ ,” Tarantulas mumbled as he worked. After the helm came the blasters over Prowl’s shoulders, then the shoulders themselves, one thread after the next draping in elegant arcs.
> 
> Momentarily Tarantulas pulled away to spin what looked like a Jacob’s ladder between his paws. As he wove the threads in and out, his humming began to take on the shape of a melody, a lilting little thing he sometimes sang to himself while alone in the lab.

Prowl

> He tilted the blasters down to make them easier to reach, but otherwise didn’t twitch.
> 
> Until Tarantulas started to hum.
> 
> Prowl’s vents shuddered to a stop.
> 
> Someone once wrote a song for Prowl. Someone dear to him. He’d spent millennia trying to mentally reconstruct the song from the fragments that he remembered, fragments that he’d heard when he didn’t know how soon it would be until he never heard the song again.
> 
> A song that was played for him over short-range comms, when he arrived in the lab, and when he was being begged not to leave so soon. When he dozed next to his restless genius, and when he was being wheedled into securing more funds and supplies for another masterpiece. When he made his genius happy—and when he waited in the next room as he was being banished into his own personal hell.
> 
> He’d spent millennia mentally reconstructing the song from what he remembered of it.
> 
> … The real thing was so much sweeter than the one in his memories. Light, lilting, cheerful. Sweet, sweet, so sweet it was nauseating.
> 
> It was happy.
> 
> He hadn’t remembered any happiness in this song.
> 
> His vents hitched.

Tarantulas

> Still absorbed in weaving the Jacob’s ladder, Tarantulas noticed neither the shudder nor hitch of Prowl’s vents. As far as he was concerned, the proceedings were going splendidly, if a little quietly. Hence, the humming.
> 
> He finished off the melody and the ladder at the same time, letting the dulcet tune trail off as he reached out to wrap the intricate webbing around Prowl’s neck. Naturally Tarantulas took advantage of the opportunity to lean in and softly nuzzle Prowl again while attaching the threads around back, all before pulling back with an oblivious smile curving his golden visor.

Prowl

> The nuzzle hurt like a sledgehammer blow against the side of his face.
> 
> Tarantulas’s smile was met with a stricken look: Prowl’s optics nearly white, his expression uncertain and twitching, trying to resolve itself into something between shock and grief.
> 
> Mesothulas who had written music for Prowl, who had turned Prowl’s dreams into reality, who had loved Prowl—was dead. Mesothulas had died alone, mad and forgotten. Because of Prowl. Because Prowl had killed him.
> 
> And here was Prowl getting decorated by someone who created like Mesothulas, who sounded like Mesothulas, who had little pieces of him who looked like Mesothulas. Someone who loved Prowl like Mesothulas. Someone who sang the same song as Mesothulas.
> 
> He wasn’t Mesothulas.
> 
> Mesothulas was gone forever.
> 
> Prowl’s expression finally collapsed toward grief. He clapped his hands over his face before it could make it all the way there. His shoulders spasmed in a choked back sob, and white optic light spilled between his fingers.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas immediately froze, paws out in front of him - what had he done wrong? Was it Prowl’s neck, or - but he’d been careful - was it the smile? What else could it -
> 
> And then the light of unshed holographic tears shone from between Prowl’s fingers, leaving Tarantulas reeling. He’d never seen Prowl cry before, neither in this universe nor his own - and now the first time it’d ever happened, it wasn’t even truly  _real_. That surreal tilt on the situation threw Tarantulas for an even worse loop.
> 
> “ _Prowl_?” A moment’s hesitation, then in an instant Tarantulas closed the gap between them again to envelop Prowl in his many-armed embrace. “Prowl, what’s - what’s wrong?”

Tarantulas

> Prowl automatically tensed as Tarantulas pulled him in—don’t, don’t do that, Prowl doesn’t deserve it and Prowl can’t appreciate it—but he didn’t resist. He let Tarantulas’s embrace trap Prowl’s arms against Tarantulas’s chest and his hands over his face.
> 
> “Noth— nothi—” His vents hitched again, and he gave up.

Tarantulas

> At least Prowl didn’t push him away - but in some ways that made Tarantulas even more worried. If it wasn’t him, then what  _was_  it? Arms curling carefully, paw coming up over Prowl’s shoulder, Tarantulas held Prowl as tenderly as he could possibly convey.
> 
> “It’s not  _nothing_ \- you’re…”  A worried noise. “Whatever it is, it’s important. At least, important to  _me_.”

Prowl

> Prowl shook his head as much as he could without uncovering his face. “It’s not—I'm—I’m  _obviously_  in an emotionally uns-stable state. There's— It’s nothing rational.”

Tarantulas

> “It  _might_  be, but that doesn’t negate what I said. I…”
> 
> Part of Tarantulas wanted to say “ _I won’t know how to help you unless I know what it is_ ,” but he held his tongue on that one. Better to let Prowl come out with it himself instead of feeling coerced.

Prowl

> Prowl could guess it was something like that. “It’s nothing important. It—doesn’t matter. Don’t worry.  _Please_ , don’t worry.”
> 
> But he was going to worry, wasn’t he? Because he cared about Prowl. By Primus, he  _shouldn’t_  care—but he did. And now Prowl was making him worry.
> 
> “… I’m s-sorry.”

Tarantulas

> Telling Tarantulas not to worry only exponentiated his fretting. Good job, Prowl.
> 
> “Nonono, shhhh…  shhh. Don’t be.” Tarantulas stroked Prowl’s back, nuzzled the top of his helm, anything he could do to ease the tension in Prowl’s frame. “Irrational or not, you’re still… still… there’s no reason to apologize, love.” A pause, then he tentatively added, “Is there anything I can do…?”

Prowl

> _Love_.
> 
> Prowl’s shoulders shook. It wasn’t the first time Tarantulas had said it—but it was the first time he sounded like he meant it.
> 
> He let out an audible sob. And he uncovered his face to wrap his arms tightly around Tarantulas, pulling him tighter, hiding his face in Tarantulas’s chest.
> 
> “ _I’m sorry._  I’m sorry.”

Tarantulas

> Again for a moment Tarantulas froze - what had he  _done_? But he melted along with Prowl’s sobbing against his chest.
> 
> “You’ve done nothing wrong, nothing. Far from it.” A paw rubbed small soothing circles on Prowl’s back, but aside from that, Tarantulas was at a loss as to how to respond. A low murmur: “Oh  _Prowl_ …”

Prowl

> “I  _have_. And I’m— There’s no way— I can never make up for it.” Gasping out the words in between sobs; this was so unlike him. He was ashamed of himself. Such a pathetic spectacle. “I’m  _sorry_. I wish— If I could undo…”

Tarantulas

> “…Wh-what do you mean?” Tarantulas pulled back a little, his spark tightening in his chest. If Prowl was saying sorry to  _Tarantulas_ , was he talking about - he couldn’t be, why would he - ?

Prowl

> He stepped in to press his face to Tarantulas’s chest again, and shook his head.
> 
> “I shouldn’t—I should never have done what—I should never have banished your alternate. My alternate should never have banished you. But, I can’t— It’s too late for me to—to apologize to  _him_ , so, it’s—got to be to  _you_. I can’t tell him, I— Tarantulas, I…”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s spark constricted even further, painfully so. Words he thought he’d never hear were coming haltingly from Prowl’s crying avatar, words he wasn’t sure he ever  _wanted_  to hear.
> 
> But Prowl kept going. Tarantulas’s vents stalled, his vocals thinning breathlessly. “Tell him what?”

Prowl

> “I— I—” 
> 
> His vents shuddered and stuttered out another sob. He couldn’t.
> 
> He held Tarantulas tighter.

Tarantulas

> Prowl could never hold Tarantulas tight enough, not with the way things were going right now. Tarantulas felt like he would go offline if either of them let go.
> 
> _Say it, Prowl. Please._
> 
> …But he didn’t. So Tarantulas couldn’t reciprocate, even if it  _was_  what he’d hoped it’d be.
> 
> His vocals remained a shaky murmur as he sought out something else to say - something, anything to fill the void of what Prowl  _wasn’t_  saying. “…It’s… you - you did what you thought was best. I - can’t fault you for that.”

Prowl

> Prowl shook his head slightly, not unburying his optics from Tarantulas’s chest. “It might have been right. It might not have. But it wasn’t good. You  _should_  fault me for that.  _I_  fault me for that.”

Tarantulas

> Although he still held Prowl as close as ever, internally Tarantulas squirmed, his processor suddenly at war with itself. The urge to  _agree_  with Prowl, to take that guilt and exacerbate it, make Prowl feel a fraction of the pain and suffering he’d inflicted on him - it was suddenly too strong to ignore.
> 
> But he - he couldn’t. Prowl was - he was - Tarantulas couldn’t bear to see him cry like this. (But  _couldn’t_ he? Didn’t he relish that pain in Prowl’s voice?) … _No_. Not now. Tarantulas violently shoved the lingering bitterness into a tiny locked box and buried it deep. He could deal with that later - or hopefully never.
> 
> “It - it matters so little now, Prowl. Can’t you see,  _I’m here_ , I’m - I’m here.” Clutching Prowl tighter, Tarantulas felt a twinge of angst contort his spark. “I may not be Mesothulas, but… I’m here. And  _you’re_ here. Dwelling on the past will only cause you more grief, and I - I won’t have that.”

Prowl

> “You’re here. I’m here. He’s  _not._  And that’s my fault.”
> 
> His vocalizer was strained from the effort of holding back the majority of his sobs; it lent a hoarse harshness to his voice he didn’t mean for it to have. “I  _should_  be caused more grief. He suffered for millennia and died because of me, I ought to be locked up at a minimum. There's—there’s so much I’ve done that I ought to see justice for—but I  _can’t,_  because Cybertron needs me to be free—the least I deserve is to suffer a little grief!”

Tarantulas

> The angst in Tarantulas’s spark was a stabbing one now. No, Mesothulas wasn’t here. Tarantulas was. But Prowl - Prowl  _wanted_ Mesothulas to be - which meant no Tarantulas, for so, so many reasons. So, in the end, Prowl would rather have Mesothulas over him… and even now, haunted by Mesothulas’s ghost, Tarantulas would never measure up. Never.
> 
> Always nice to be reminded of.
> 
> Tarantulas shivered, his vocals strained. “Justice might not simply mean spending your life in a jail cell. There are plenty of ways to atone for one’s wrongdoings, like - I suppose grief, but - that doesn’t mean I can’t wish you the most painless sort. Besides, it - it doesn’t always have to be an  _optic for an optic_. That only  _perpetuates_  the problem.”

Prowl

> “If it’s painless that defeats the  _purpose._  I don't—I don’t believe in an optic for an optic. That’s not the point of punishment. But, I…”
> 
> But he believed he should hurt for what he’d done.
> 
> “… I’m sorry.” What else was there to say? “I’m sorry.” It didn’t undo anything he’d done. His fingers dug into the seams in Tarantulas’s armor, like he was afraid of falling off and losing him too if he didn’t keep as tight a grip as possible.

Tarantulas

> “But if you’re to be in pain, it’s just  _pain for pain_. And that - that causes  _me_  pain, too.” Tarantulas choked briefly. Why, why did this have to come up. Why couldn’t they simply have avoided the subject forever…
> 
> Tarantulas was grateful for the discomfort of Prowl’s fingers tearing into his seams. Somehow, it made it easier to lie.
> 
> “You’re -  _forgiven_. Right or not, good or bad - it, it doesn’t matter to me. If you feel you have to make it up to the world somehow… I’ll help you find a way.”

Prowl

> Silence; Prowl’s shoulders curled in farther. And once again, more quietly: “I’m sorry.” This time for Tarantulas’s pain.
> 
> He shook his head, again a small enough motion to keep his face hidden. “No. It’s not your burden to carry.  _Especially_  not yours. It would be wrong.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas sighed, trying in vain to shed some of the tension that laced in and around his frame. “It’s always right and wrong with you, isn’t it,” he murmured into the top of Prowl’s helm, not truly chiding. “What if… what if I told you that nothing about you is ever a burden to me? Would you believe me…?
> 
> “…Hyeh. Why  _would_  you. O-of course it’s not true.”
> 
> Tarantulas made himself swallow the words he wished he could follow up with. As far as burdens went… well. His love for Prowl had been the heaviest, most bittersweet burden he’d carried in all the millennia he’d been alive.
> 
> A barely audible stutter: “I - I’ll gladly carry it regardless.”

Prowl

> “Yeah.” Always. It was how he saw the world. Right and wrong always had to be weighed and measured, and his actions made on the basis of which actions tipped the universal scale closer to the greater good. To do otherwise would be—would be wrong.
> 
> No, he wouldn’t believe it if Tarantulas said he wasn’t a burden; he knew what he was. But Primus, was it different to hear Tarantulas  _tell_  him he was a burden. His shoulders curled more. How many more times could he say  _I’m sorry_  before the words lost meaning completely?
> 
> As long as he couldn’t  _do_  anything about the words, they’d probably never meant anything in the first place.
> 
> This time he jerked back from Tarantulas, optics squeezed tight shut as he shook his head furiously. “ _No_. I don’t  _want_  to be a burden—especially not to  _you_. That’s the  _last_  thing I want. That’s—that makes it so much worse.”

Tarantulas

> _Frag_. Frag. Tarantulas’s visor fritzed brighter in panic as Prowl pulled back. Maybe - maybe Tarantulas should have said it after all. Then Prowl would at least understand - then he might see -
> 
> “ _You’re not a burden_  - you’re not the burden, Prowl, it’s -  _please_  don’t -” Arms still around Prowl, he tried to draw him back in again, desperately hoping it’d magically break whatever curse Prowl was under. “That’s not what I meant, not in a  _million_  years, I - it’s on  _me_ , this - this -”
> 
> What could he even say? As many times as Prowl would apologize, Tarantulas would counter him with clichéd reassurances that kept making things  _worse_ , and they’d just get sucked into the quicksand even faster.
> 
> One paw abandoned the effort to keep Prowl close, instead attempting to cup his face and carefully hold it still. Tarantulas’s voice wavered. “ _Don’t_. Please. Just - Prowl, I  _need_  -”

Prowl

> Every desperate tug and unfinished sentence pierced Prowl’s armor and stuck in his spark. Now Tarantulas was in pain too. Which was the very last thing Prowl had wanted—and whose fault was it? Who had  _made_  Tarantulas upset? Weren’t apologies supposed to heal pain, wasn’t the knowledge that wrongdoer’s conscience made him suffer supposed to ameliorate a little of the victim’s suffering? What was the point if it only hurt the victim more?
> 
> But the last blow was when Tarantulas cupped Prowl’s face, holding it where Tarantulas could see it. He knew what he had to look like—he could  _feel_  what he looked like. His face was contorted in naked grief and despair, his mouth tight and twisted, his optics white and the boundaries wavering because his avatar didn’t know how to render tears. Tarantulas hadn’t done a thing to deserve to have to look at that face.
> 
> “ _No._ ” His avatar lost cohesion; his image pixelated and scattered around Tarantulas’s touch. He was just a hologram now, nothing solid. He backed out of Tarantulas’s embrace, through his arms, too far for him to touch. The webs Tarantulas had laid so carefully over his frame fluttered off, to catch on the fur of Tarantulas’s paws.
> 
> Selfish. Selfish. Selfish. What right did Prowl have to burden someone else with even an ounce of his guilt,  _especially_  someone that he—? All he’d done was double their suffering; and he increased it exponentially every time he opened his damn mouth.  _I’m sorry. I’m sorry._  Shut up. When have your sorries ever made a difference? You should have said nothing. You should have kept your emotions locked up where they  _belong._
> 
> He had to force himself back under control. Starting with his face—the hard, hard set of his mouth that people always thought of when they pictured Prowl. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I'm—”  _When have your sorries ever made a difference?_  “… This isn’t like me. This is—I  _control_  myself better than this. I don’t  _do this_  to people, I don't— _put myself_  on people like this. This isn’t me.”

Tarantulas

> Staring at his paws covered in silken threads, Tarantulas could feel his optics beginning to overheat behind his visor, threatening to spill crimson tears. This was - no. Nonono. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe it was a dream, a nightmare - it made sense, with the way Prowl was phasing ghost-like through his arms, right?
> 
> He hoped and prayed it was a dream. But the pain of seeing Prowl’s face go cold like that? That was  _very_  real. 
> 
> Tarantulas took a shaky half-step forward, pleading with outstretched arms. “You - you don’t  _have_  to keep from - you can  _tell_  me! I - I’m  _glad_ you told me - it means so much, Prowl.” Lies, more lies. It always was, when it came to things that mattered.

Prowl

> Prowl took a shaky half-step back, keeping the same distance between them. “… You promised you wouldn’t lie.” Uncertainty flickered in his optics; he didn’t _know_  if Tarantulas was lying.
> 
> But then he forced that hard, hard look over his optics as well, and the uncertainty was gone. All that was left was Prowl with the cruel mouth, supercilious and cold. Blank and unreadable.
> 
> Except for the way his optics glowed too bright.

Tarantulas

> No, Prowl didn’t know if Tarantulas was lying, and hopefully he’d never know.
> 
> “I _did_ , and I’m  _not_ ,” Tarantulas countered, a desperate whine in his vocals. “I simply - I  **do** appreciate - but it’s not an  _easy_  thing to swallow, Prowl, and bringing up subjects like this out of the middle of nowhere -” …Wait. “Why  _did_  you even - what prompted this to begin with? I - I don’t understand.” 

Prowl

> Could Prowl trust that? Could he believe that Tarantulas was telling the truth, instead of just saying what he probably wanted Prowl to hear? (It wasn’t what Prowl wanted to hear.) He didn’t know.
> 
> … What  _did_  prompt this? He looked down, rewinding the conversation, trying to…
> 
> The song. The song he hadn’t heard in millennia. It had shocked him. It had stabbed all the way through his usual shields until something spilled out.
> 
> Now he knew about that weakness, and he could defend against it. It wouldn’t affect him again.
> 
> “It doesn’t matter.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s visor flashed briefly, painfully, and his outer limbs twitched. “It  _does_. It does matter. So many things matter, so many things you - you’ve been saying that about  _everything_ these days. …Something’s wrong. And  _please_ , now it’s your turn not to lie to me and tell me it’s fine, or that it doesn’t slagging matter. What was it. What -  _is_  it. If you care enough to let me know.”

Prowl

> “It  _doesn’t_  matter,” Prowl snapped. “It doesn’t. It  _doesn’t_. It is _insignificant_ because it’s over and it’s not happening again. And don’t you  _dare_  play that—that manipulative game. Acting like whether or not I tell you anything is a measure of how much I care.”

Tarantulas

> “At - at some point -”
> 
> Tarantulas choked, not for the first time in the conversation. He hadn’t noticed he’d even said that last bit. Old habits die hard, apparently.
> 
> “No, no it’s not, I - apologize. Wrong units of measurement.” Because how much Prowl told him was a measure of how much he  _trusted_  him. And Tarantulas knew all about that; he didn’t have to ask to know how much, how  _little_  trust he’d managed to earn in the past months.
> 
> Tarantulas undid his step forward, defensively curling an arm around himself. Whatever had just transpired between them, he couldn’t undo it, couldn’t try to ameliorate it, not now that Prowl was like this. Why should he even  _try_. He should just tell Prowl to go. Because nothing he did from this point on would “matter,” would it.

Prowl

> The sudden apology threw Prowl off. He’d been expecting Tarantulas to get defensive, to argue that it wasn’t manipulation because it was true, to accuse Prowl of trying to silence him with baseless accusations—not to tell Prowl he was right. Not to immediately take it back.
> 
> And maybe this was just manipulation, too. Maybe he was saying what he thought Prowl wanted to hear. But maybe he did mean it.
> 
> Prowl crossed his arms tightly. “… Apology accepted.” Benefit of the doubt.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas hadn’t really known what to expect in reply from Prowl, so he wasn’t necessarily disappointed by the short phrase. He just - Primus, he already wished he could have that other Prowl back. Even if it meant the crying, he wanted the Prowl who actually  _said_  things, who spoke his mind even through the tears.
> 
> Suddenly Tarantulas felt so  _heavy_. Stepping back even more, twisting around, he retreated to the closest thing that counted as a seat and collapsed onto it. Helm in his paws and elbows on his knees, he tried to circulate his vents, his optics dangerously close to spilling tears into his visor.

Prowl

> … What did that mean?
> 
> Did he want Prowl to go away? Did he want to escape Prowl? Or was he just trying to escape the conversation? Was he only tired?
> 
> What did Prowl do with that?
> 
> He froze a moment, calculating; and then hesitantly followed Tarantulas. That was how most people showed emotional support; that was how most people wanted to be emotionally supported. Prowl rarely appreciated the gesture, but others did. And if Tarantulas did—if Tarantulas still wanted Prowl close, even after all that—then it was right for Prowl to offer that. He’d stay close.
> 
> But not too close, in case Prowl was wrong.
> 
> He sat on the floor, close enough that Tarantulas could reach out and pull Prowl back in if he wanted, but no closer. No assuming. He’d take his cues from Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> For a while, Tarantulas wouldn’t give off any cues. He simply sat there, trying not to tremble, letting his thoughts jumble together into a mess that eventually inevitably found its way out his vocalizer.
> 
> The softest broken hiss of a voice. “… _Why_. Why this.” He let go of his helm with one paw to gesture between the two of them. “Why  _this_.” A gesture to the room at large. “W-why - I should never have even  _conceived_  of this accursed place. Then we - we wouldn’t even be here. Like this. Like…”

Prowl

> No cues didn’t tell Prowl anything, but it meant he wasn’t being told to leave. He’d wait, staring at his own legs and hands.
> 
> He turned toward Tarantulas as he started speaking, but didn’t look up. Not until he caught Tarantulas’s gesture toward the room from the edge of his optic, and followed it.
> 
> For a moment after Tarantulas trailed off, he was silent, to see if he was going to speak up again. And then for another moment longer, he stayed silent, putting his words in order.
> 
> “… This place wasn’t the problem. It was  _a_  problem, but not  _the_  problem,” Prowl said. “Carpessa was where we went too far. And… Carpessa was my fault.”
> 
> He gestured between them. “ _This_  didn’t happen because you made the Noisemaze. We were already going to break apart. The Noisemaze just determined how we broke.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas loosed a tiny huff of air. “Carpessa. Yes, I…” 
> 
> _…Break apart_. Break apart. That was how Prowl was going to put it. An immense bitterness welled up in Tarantulas’s chest, but he refused to let it show. He’d already lied about forgiving Prowl for what he’d done - he’d just have to suffocate the grudge for now until it quietly expired.
> 
> However, before he could stop himself, a handful of words slipped out. “One - one  _pits_  of a way to break apart.” …Belatedly, Tarantulas hoped Prowl wouldn’t interpret that how he truly meant it.

Prowl

> A dismal nod. “I’ve… apologized before.” The very first time they met. “And I just apologized so many times I think the word’s lost all meaning.”
> 
> His gaze dropped back down to the floor.
> 
> “But, would another one help?”

Tarantulas

> Ah, good. Prowl didn’t seem to take the words too badly. Tarantulas gave a quiet ‘ _hyeh._ ’
> 
> “You needn’t. It couldn’t hurt, but - no, there’s no need.” 

Prowl

> Why would he take them badly? Tarantulas was right, wasn’t he?
> 
> “I didn’t ask if I need to. I asked if it would help.”

Tarantulas

> For the first time since he’d sat down, Tarantulas tilted his helm up a fraction - and if Prowl was watching, he’d even meet his optic.
> 
> “If there’s nothing to help  _with_ , then the helping’s a moot point, Prowl.” A small quirk of his visor. “There - there are plenty of other things I’d rather hear out of your vocalizer right now.” Maybe just one in particular, if Prowl could get back around to it, but Tarantulas doubted that’d come to pass.

Prowl

> He’s watching Tarantulas, but only peripherally. And certainly not enough to meet his visor.
> 
> “I don’t want to ask a third time, so I’m going to assume you intend that to be a ‘no,’ and not a convoluted way of saying ‘yes’ in a way you can pretend sounds like a ‘no.’”
> 
> His gaze flickered up for a moment—optic contact, no, bad—and back down to the floor. “I can’t say them if I don’t know what they are.”

Tarantulas

> “It’s a ‘ _none of the above_ ’ if you must.” Tarantulas squinted slightly, unseen, then let his helm and gaze fall again.
> 
> “And it’s not as if I’m going to prompt you into saying anything specific. I…” A faint sigh before he went on mumbling at the ground. “…You know, I  _could_ go on about the nonzero chances that you’ll say such things without prior knowledge, but it just - doesn’t seem the time, the mood… something like that.
> 
> “…The same thing would apply if I said that quite frankly I want to hear most  _anything_ you have to say, because if I said that outright you’d dismiss it as sentimental hyperbole - so. That’s nixed as well.”

Prowl

> “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with a ‘none of the above.’” He sighed quietly.
> 
> Prowl wouldn’t mind if Tarantulas went on about the nonzero chances that he’d say such things without prior knowledge. “… No. I wouldn’t dismiss it as sentimental hyperbole. I’d believe you meant it.” He wouldn’t believe that it was  _true_ —not right after Tarantulas had just finished saying that it was the wrong time and mood to say some things—but he’d believe Tarantulas thought it was true.
> 
> And then he added, awkwardly, quietly, “S’why I keep—comming you, lately. Same reason.”

Tarantulas

> “Nothing, really,” Tarantulas replied simply.
> 
> Same reason? The thought made his spark flutter and pulse. He’d already known that Prowl called because he wanted to listen to him ramble on, but that was different than actively being interested in most everything Tarantulas had to say. Heck, even Tarantulas himself wasn’t always interested in what he had to say.
> 
> “You’re - you’re always welcome to, you know. Even if you don’t have much to say, I’m sure I can fill in for both of us. Though I - I really do appreciate any window into your mind you’re able to offer. You’re… you’re…” Terribly fascinating. Perpetually enthralling. Despite immense emotional baggage, always someone Tarantulas was inevitably drawn back to.

Prowl

> A small nod. Prowl knew. “… I haven’t had much to say, lately.” It took too much energy to speak. It took too much energy to even think up something he wanted to say.

Tarantulas

> “That makes your words all the more precious, then.” 
> 
> For a moment Tarantulas simply gazed at Prowl, then sighed, some of the tension slipping out of his frame along with the ventilation. Then, finally, gently, he scooted forward off his seat and clambered onto the floor with Prowl.
> 
> Tug, tug. Bring your legs down all the way, Prowl - Tarantulas wants to sit close and wrap his legs around your waist, and he can’t do that if he can’t get his fuzzy thighs perpendicularly over yours.

Prowl

> Prowl had already made up his mind that he was going to let Tarantulas pull him back in. So when Tarantulas started trying to manipulate his limbs, he let him.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was silently grateful for the compliance; he wasn’t sure he could’ve handled any sort of rejection from Prowl at this point. No need to worry about that though - he set about arranging them, wrapping arms and legs around Prowl loosely this time, so he could rest his offline forehelm optics against Prowl’s chevron.
> 
> After a moment, a few mandibles nipped at Prowl’s nasal ridge. “…Precious, yes.” A good word for Prowl, Tarantulas decided.

Prowl

> He’s certainly not protesting. In fact, once Tarantulas is done arranging them, he leans heavily against Tarantulas’s chest, and dims his optics to near-darkness.
> 
> “Hmm.” He’s not terribly fond of it, but he’s not going to argue.

Tarantulas

> Prowl’s leaning was even more reassuring than mere acquiescence - because if Prowl was wholesparked about it, that meant things couldn’t be all wrong, could they?
> 
> Tarantulas gave a hum in return to Prowl’s, which very nearly turned into a soft encore performance of his previous tune. Thankfully it transitioned into murmurs instead.
> 
> “…Is there anything you might like me to ramble about at the moment? Because silence never suits me well, but I’m - at a loss as to what one ought to say in this sort of situation.”

Prowl

> For a second, Prowl thought Tarantulas was going to… And Prowl held very still, to keep himself under control, to ensure that he wouldn’t fall apart again. But then Tarantulas didn’t.
> 
> _In this sort of situation._  So circumspect. “… No.” Prowl shook his head. “Nothing that I can think of. Anything’s fine.”

Tarantulas

> _Always_ circumspect. It was part of his nature, after all - the threads of a spider’s web always spiral around the center focus.
> 
> Tarantulas held back a disappointed sigh - so he’d have to come up with something himself, then. Maybe draw from similar topics? Would he want to risk rummaging through more old baggage again, or try something new entirely?
> 
> “…I’m… I’m aware it wasn’t you who pushed me into the Noisemaze.” Something Impactor had told him shortly before everything fell apart. “So you’re not _truly_ guilty of anything, logically speaking.”
> 
> Apparently baggage, it seemed. Oops.

Prowl

> Oh? Was that what they were talking about?
> 
> Prowl wondered how Tarantulas figured out—but he supposed it didn’t have to be anything fancy. Even with identical armor on, it sat on Impactor differently than Prowl. Impactor moved differently in it than Prowl.
> 
> Prowl shook his head. “Your ‘logic’ is illogical. The one who gives the order—the one who holds the power to decide which actions to take—is more guilty than the one who obeys it. I’m the one who wanted—” The words stuck in his vocalizer. It took some effort to force them out. “Who—wanted you gone. Who wanted you dead.” The back of his throat burned.
> 
> “I’m the one who chose to betray an ally, and decided that my self-control was so poor the only way to prevent myself from further associating with him was by  _killing_  him. That’s on  _me_. Not on a soldier who only knows that his superior officer ordered him to proceed to a hidden location and eliminate the dangerous target inside.”

Tarantulas

> In a snap, Tarantulas had the sensation that, even though he was pressed chest-to-chest with Prowl, he was a million light-years away. He’d never really asked  _why_  Prowl had done what he’d done. Never really thought about it that hard. Hearing it now…
> 
> “You decided - the most pragmatic option at the time. I’m not saying… I’m not saying Impactor was to  _blame_ , but you don’t technically have - you’re not at fault. I know you feel as if you are, but… I wanted that made clear.”
> 
> In the back of his mind, Tarantulas was aware he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was Prowl, a thought that still slightly stung.

Prowl

> “You’re wrong,” Prowl said firmly. “You’re  _extremely_  wrong, and this has nothing to do with feelings. And frankly, I find it worrying what it says about your psyche, if you think that somebody who consciously and deliberately chooses to kill somebody, plans out how it will be done, and executes the plan can somehow be  _not at fault_  for his death. The fact that I decided killing you was _pragmatic_ does not magically negate the fact that I decided to kill you.”

Tarantulas

> “It, it…”
> 
> How could he respond to this without fragging up somehow? Forgive him, Prowl, for taking a seemingly eternally long time to reply.
> 
> “I suppose, then… such a person…  _is_  at fault for their victim’s death.”  _Victim_. Was that what Tarantulas was? That felt - uncomfortable to say aloud. “But in this case, there are so many caveats and nuances that I - I don’t hold it against you. Is what I mean to say, I think.
> 
> “For example - I  _didn’t_  die. And Mesothulas -” Tarantulas hesitated, rethinking what he wanted to say. “…I can’t speak for him. Even though we’re the same person. Unless you  _want_  me to speak for him.”

Prowl

> “You don’t have to hold it against me if you don’t want to. Your resentment or lack thereof and my responsibility are two completely different things.”
> 
> One shoulder twitched in a shrug. “If we spend the whole conversation going ‘I-by-which-I-mean-my-alternate’ and ‘you-by-which-I-mean-your-alternate,’ we’re never going to get anywhere. I think we’re going to have to speak for our alternates in a limited sense, with the understand that what we say might be very wrong, and correct each other when one of us says something we personally know to be untrue about his alternate.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl received a small nod at his first statement, but ultimately Tarantulas was more preoccupied with what followed.
> 
> “I’ll agree to that. But that doesn’t answer my question. ….My unsaid question. T-that is, do you  _want_  me to speak for him? To - to tell you what he might say.”

Prowl

> “If you feel the need to speak for him on some subject, speak for him,” Prowl said. “I haven’t asked you what he would say about anything. I don’t foresee myself doing so.”

Tarantulas

> That - that was an  _unusual_ amount of freedom Prowl had just granted him. Tarantulas rolled that around in his processor for a moment before moving on.
> 
> A slight shift, his paws re-hooking around Prowl’s back. “Would you…” A pause before starting over. “…Do you want to hear Mesothulas’s thoughts on what happened? If he were to… if he - could have had them.”

Prowl

> Prowl didn’t think it was unusual. All he’d done was grant Tarantulas permission to talk.
> 
> A pause, as he processed the question, and carefully chose his words. “I don’t want to hear you hypothesize about what he might have thought,” he said. “If _you’re_  wanting to tell me what  _your_  thoughts were… That’s up to you. That has nothing to do with me.”

Tarantulas

> More muted, carefully-chosen words. “I ask you because of what I’d said - because of the nuances, and me… not dying. Not holding it against you. Those are my own thoughts. Mesothulas’s - for lack of a better term, my past thoughts - those are incongruous with what I’ve said thus far.” A pause. “I think. But no less nuanced.”
> 
> Tarantulas gave Prowl time to digest that, then added: “That’s why I ask. And that’s probably why you refrained from giving me a straight answer just now. I… am ambivalent. And I want to know…” Don’t use the word ‘ _feel_ ,’ he’ll balk. “…I want to know whether you want to know for yourself or not. It factors into the equation.”

Prowl

> So Tarantulas thought Mesothulas’s opinion would be different than his own. That said all Prowl really needed to know, didn’t it?
> 
> “I didn’t  _refrain_  from giving you a straight answer. I’ve given you an answer that’s better and more useful than a straight but misleading answer. If you want to tell me how you felt, you can tell me. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t. My answer isn’t about me and I want to not make it about me.”

Tarantulas

> Hardly, Prowl. Hardly.
> 
> Silence, until Tarantulas finally made up his mind. He had to. Before he could chicken out. If he couldn’t air his grievances in his own voice, he’d vocalize them through another, one that came out as a wavering murmur.
> 
> “Mesothulas felt… to use your word,  _betrayed_. Shocked. Dismayed. He hadn’t anticipated the strength of your reaction. He was naive. Blinded by… so many things. By potential. And success. And…” He let Prowl finish the sentence himself; it wasn’t hard to surmise.
> 
> “…And - and there was no small amount of despair. He…  _So soon_  after having created Ostaros, you’d done this to him. To them. Deprived them both of what could have been.” A pause, as Tarantulas had started tearing up again behind his visor. “He - he couldn’t bear to be away from you both. You could have asked  _anything_  of him. But you - didn’t. Y-you tore -” He choked, shutting off his vocalizer entirely.
> 
> When it came back on, his vocals were slightly hoarse. “…You already know what you did, there’s no point in dragging on. That’s - most of it. There were other things, other thoughts, but those… those came later. B-but no, I…
> 
> “…I believe that’s why  _I_  was dodging your question, when you asked if an apology would help.” Oh Primus, there came the tears again. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Because - it wouldn’t help  _me_ , but it - it might help  _him_.”

Prowl

> He kept his gaze down, focused on the point where their chests met, as Tarantulas spoke. Listening. Just listening.
> 
> There was nothing Prowl didn’t expect to hear. The lack of anger was a surprise, yes—but nothing that  _was_  there was something he hadn’t anticipated.
> 
> One small surprise: after Prowl had said, fairly clearly, that he was willing to hear how Tarantulas felt, not how Tarantulas hypothesized Mesothulas had felt, Tarantulas was still saying “he” instead of “I.” Had Tarantulas just decided to completely ignore what Prowl had said? Had Tarantulas misunderstood him?
> 
> It took Prowl a (mildly irritated) moment to understand. And then it hit him: Tarantulas  _was_  doing what Prowl had asked, he  _was_  explaining how he himself felt. He just—he couldn’t do it when the words were coming from himself, could he? He had to put the words in someone else’s mouth. He had to distance himself.
> 
> And when he said the apology wouldn’t help him but would help Mesothulas—someone who was dead, someone who wouldn’t even hear it—what he meant was he couldn’t admit to himself that he needed the apology.
> 
> He nodded slowly. “Then… it’ll be for him, but, I’ll be saying ‘you.’ All right? As though I’m talking to him.” They’d dance around the truth together.

Tarantulas

> _Oh_. Oh. This was going to be infinitely more painful to hear in the second person, wasn’t it. But it was too late - Tarantulas was already shakily nodding in agreement, already stepping in time with the dance.

Prowl

> For a long moment, Prowl was silent. Putting his words together. The exact right words in the exact right order. He had to do this correctly; he couldn’t ad lib it, fumbling around for the right words until he hit on something close. It had to be right the first time. And it had to be prepared before he said a word—so he could look Tarantulas in the optic as he spoke.
> 
> His speech will be halting and stiff, but it always is when he says something he truly means.
> 
> He looked up, and into Tarantulas’s visor.
> 
> “I’m sorry I killed you,” he said. “And—it  _was_  me. Impactor was only the—the murder weapon. Just a soldier following orders. I’m responsible for—everything. Everything that happened to you. And I’m sorry for it. I regret it. All of it.”
> 
> (And after that, it was  _Tarantulas_  who looked away; Prowl could see his visor dim as his optics turned off. Prowl let him. The apology was for Tarantulas’s benefit; if it was easier for him to hear it without seeing Prowl, fine.)
> 
> “When I say ‘regret,’ I mean—there's—there’s several different kinds of regret. There’s three kinds. The first kind is regret that I had to—to do something—or allow something, horrible, to happen; because it  _is_  horrible, and I wish it hadn’t had to happen; but it  _did_  have to happen, and if—if put it in the same situation, I’d do it again, because it’s necessary. That’s the first kind. The second kind of regret is when, in hindsight, with subsequent knowledge or intel or experience I gained after the event, I can see that I made the wrong decision—but, I know that at the time, with all the information I had available to me, it was the most logical decision; I regret what I did because I now know better, but I know that, at the time, based on what I knew, I could not in good conscience have made any better decision. The third kind of regret—that’s for when I—I never should have done what I did. When I should have known better from the very start. When I was wrong all along, and should have known at the time. When there's—there’s no excuse for what I did. When there’s no justification.”
> 
> (Tarantulas had started crying, red tears welling up along the bottom of his visor and rolling down. Not what Prowl had wanted, but, he supposed, inevitable. He reached for his face; hesitated; almost drew back; and then, tentatively, reached forward, and gently wiped the tear streaks away. He doesn’t know what else he can offer. He’s  _already_  apologizing.)
> 
> “What I’ve done to you—that’s the third kind of regret. I have no excuse and no justification for what I did. I could have told you I was terminating our working contract and left. I could have told you I was  _going_  to terminate it unless you agreed never to work on a project we’d agreed to trash. I could have brought in a third party to monitor us. I could have confessed everything to High Command and let both of us deal with our punishments. I could have—done so many different things. I could have handled it so differently.
> 
> “Instead, I decided that we couldn't—that  _I_  couldn't—couldn’t be—trusted, to be able to make objective decisions, to be able to control myself, as long as you were around. I decided I was too weak to control myself—without even trying. And I chose to punish  _you_  for it. I chose to kill you for my weakness. You didn’t deserve that. For my cowardice, for my weakness, for my selfishness—for my—my evilness—I’m sorry.
> 
> “And I mean—I mean ‘I’m sorry’ not as an emotional statement, but—as an apology. As a declaration that I want to make an effort to rectify the situation. I don’t know if anything I ever do  _can_  rectify it, but… I—want to try. For you.”

Tarantulas

> Little did Prowl know, Tarantulas had started crying long, long before the crimson tears leaked from his visor. Scientist that he was, he’d upgraded his optical array after the last time he cried, adding in pores for recycling the heated tears before they could escape the visor. Unfortunately for Tarantulas, he hadn’t planned on crying  _this much_. The pores just couldn’t drain quickly enough.
> 
> But how could he not cry? Prowl was apologizing for having  _killed him_  - something that, no matter how overtly it was addressed to Mesothulas, Tarantulas still took to spark extremely personally. (Because he  _was_  Mesothulas. Had been Mesothulas. Would always be, no matter how hard he tried to escape the name.)
> 
> …That hit  _hard_. Here Tarantulas was, crying burning red tears from optics he should have discarded millennia ago, pretending not to be who he actually was. He  _had_  to turn away. Had to hide his optics as he deactivated the visor. Had to hastily paw at them not moments after Prowl had -  _so tenderly_  - wiped away his tears. Because he couldn’t let Prowl see how those tears continued to multiply as the apology went on.
> 
> By the end he was trembling. _For you,_  Prowl had said. A glance back in Prowl’s direction confirmed he was still looking straight at him - at  _him_  - at Tarantulas. Prowl didn’t need to say anything outright for his intended audience to get the point.
> 
> Paled optics met shining blue ones for a brief moment, before Tarantulas choked up and burst out sobbing, burying his face into Prowl’s shoulder. He didn’t have much optical pigment to cry out anymore, but who needed tears for crying, anyhow? Prowl would be able to feel every hiccup and shudder, with how tightly Tarantulas was holding him now. Once or twice he tried to speak through the sobs, but his vocalizer wasn’t having it, aside from the occasional “ _Oh P-Prowl_.” Coherent sentences would just have to wait until he drained every last drop of color from his optics, it seemed.

Prowl

> When Tarantulas looked at Prowl again—with his  _own_  optics—it took everything Prowl had not to either seize his face and wipe his tears again or to start crying again himself. He’d  _had_  his turn, ill-deserved as it was; and this—this proper apology, this was what he should have done the first time. 
> 
> Tarantulas was still crying. But he was crying  _on_  Prowl, rather than as far from Prowl as he could get, so—maybe he’d done that right.
> 
> He hoped he’d done that right.
> 
> He held Tarantulas close, an arm wrapped around his back, slid between his legs, and the other cradling the back of his head, elbow awkwardly jutted out over the back of Tarantulas’s shoulder. Ironically, bent over like this, Tarantulas’s size was so much more obvious; all legs and pauldrons and back, he loomed over Prowl like a mountain. And as his sobs shook Prowl, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure he could feel anything of Mesothulas left in his body.
> 
> He turned his head to kiss Tarantulas’s helm, just beyond the corner of his deactivated visor. He should say something—something. Another apology wouldn’t work; the words  _I’m sorry_  would not regain coherent meaning for at least another three days. He could say… no, not that. “I’m here.” That was all he could offer Tarantulas—himself. “I’m here.”

Tarantulas

> Whether Prowl had made the apology correctly or not was a moot point by now. Whatever Tarantulas had gotten from it, he’d taken it to spark, desperately clutching the words and sentiments and never letting them go.
> 
> He gave a slight shiver at the kiss - another tender touch, something he so very much wasn’t used to receiving. Another shiver at Prowl’s words -  _I’m here_. Prowl was here. He - he had Prowl. Didn’t he?
> 
> Tarantulas froze. It wasn’t quite logical, he knew that, but -
> 
> “Y-you’re not - you’re not even  _here_. You’re - you’re just  _light_ , a - a fabrication, you could just -” A sudden fit of sobbing, and Tarantulas dug his claws deep into Prowl’s plating. “H-h-how do I know you’re even  _real_ , I - I -”
> 
> It was a thought he hadn’t had up until this point, but one that seemed horrifyingly possible. Maybe he finally  _had_  cracked, who knew. Maybe he was merely hallucinating Prowl and his whole apology, all for the sake of Tarantulas’s own emotional catharsis. For all he knew, it might not even be the _first_ time he’d dreamt Prowl up…

Prowl

> Wrong words. Wrong words. Abort. Abort.
> 
> “I’m real,” Prowl hastily assured him, pulling him closer, holding him tighter, “I promise I’m real, I—” He leaned his helm against Tarantulas’s, his chevron pressed behind his temple, his mouth just under his audial receptor. “You can feel me against your tactile receptors, can’t you? You can hear me. If you look up you can see me. My touch can change the way you feel, my words can change what you’re thinking about. I can tell you—I can tell you to picture a building—go on, picture one, any building—and you do, don’t you? If that—if the ability to affect my environment, to affect  _you_ , isn’t a measure of my realness—what is?”

Tarantulas

> “I-I can  _feel_  you,  _hear_  you, but - how - h-how do I know you’re not just a - a  _figment_. A desperate hallucination. I h-honestly wouldn’t put it past me.” Some nervous laughter through the lingering sobs. 
> 
> But Primus, Tarantulas  _needed_  this to be real. He needed it so badly it felt like his spark would burn right through his chamber. What could he do? How could he confirm that he wasn’t just imagining it all? The Noisemaze  _had_  corrupted his processor, after all. It was entirely plausible.
> 
> But - thankfully - an idea flickered to life. “W-what if - something you know, that I never possibly could. Something I couldn’t just look up, but - I have to be able to verify it. Anything, just - g-give me some proof. Some shred of evidence.  _Please_. Please, Prowl. I  _want_  you to - to be here. I-I  _need_  you, I -”

Prowl

> That was worse than just doubting the authenticity of a hologram. Prowl had messed up. He should have stuck to redundant apologies. “I—I’m not a figment, I swear I’m not—” What good was a promise from a hallucination?
> 
> Where had this come from, this sudden excessive doubt? What had Prowl done? Was it the apology, was Tarantulas unable to believe that that had come out of Prowl? God, Prowl couldn’t blame him if he was.
> 
> “Something I know,” Prowl echoed. Okay. Okay, he could do that—but—something like  _what_? As always his mind jumped to obscure scientific facts, mathematical principles—but Tarantulas was a  _scientist_ , he’d know any of those better than Prowl did. More obscure. The scraps of chemistry or anatomical knowledge he’d picked up from Mixmaster or Hook? Worse—same problem, Tarantulas would know those better than Prowl did.
> 
> And anything Tarantulas could look up was off the list. No music, no movies, no books, no documentaries. No general facts about reality. It had to be something Prowl had personally observed. Something that Prowl knew and only Prowl knew wouldn’t work, because then Tarantulas wouldn’t be able to verify it. A case he’d been involved in before the war that never received publicity? No—prewar criminal records and case files had been lost in the war; Tarantulas would be unable to verify it. Something he’d seen in the war, something he’d participated in? No—much of what he knew that Tarantulas couldn’t just look up himself was classified and unaccessible. Something from around Prowl, physically, that he could tell Tarantulas about—something from his apartment or from his work site? No—for Tarantulas to verify it, he’d have to go there himself to see it, violating Starscream’s ban and endangering his safety; and Tarantulas was in no state of mind to use proper precautions like keeping himself a proper size and out of sight. 
> 
> Every idea he came up with was systematically eliminated; everything was either too common to meet Tarantulas’s standard that it couldn’t be just looked up, or too obscure for Tarantulas to verify. He couldn’t give Tarantulas proof. He didn’t know what to do.
> 
> But Tarantulas was still clinging to him, still  _begging_  him, just for a  _scrap_  of evidence, and he was useless. In that moment Prowl would have plucked Luna One out of the sky and given it to Tarantulas if he could (wouldn’t work; its location was now public knowledge), but he couldn’t even give Tarantulas evidence that Prowl  _existed_.
> 
> Prowl jerked back slightly from Tarantulas, looking around the room. There—just past arm’s length away, the crate that Tarantulas had been sitting on before he’d slid down onto Prowl’s lap. It was soft; the lid had slightly buckled from Tarantulas’s weight on it. 
> 
> If Prowl couldn’t  _give_  Tarantulas proof, he’d  _make_  it.
> 
> He raised a hand, lunged sideways, slammed his hand down on the top of the crate, and toppled them both to the ground. With a grunt, he shifted enough to look at the crate; he’d knocked it over in his fall, turning the lid to face them both.
> 
> “There!” He pointed at the lid—and at his own handprint clearly embedded in it. “There’s your proof. Physical evidence that I’ve been here. That’s  _my_  hand. You’re  _physically incapable_  of making that handprint.” Please, let that be good enough.

Tarantulas

> The longer Prowl took to come up with something convincingly real, the deeper the existential doubt took root in Tarantulas’s mind. Prowl wasn’t saying anything because Tarantulas himself couldn’t come up with anything to have the figment say, obviously. But, despite this sudden fear, Tarantulas waited in shuddering silence as long as it took, claws still hooked into what he dearly hoped was Prowl’s actual hard light avatar.
> 
> Then Prowl jerked back, startling Tarantulas into letting go, and  _slammed_  his hand on the crate. The yelp Tarantulas let out was just as much in surprise as it was in confusion -  _what in the pits was_  - but then out of their mess of limbs Prowl pointed dramatically at the lid, and Tarantulas’s washed-out optics spotted the handprint.
> 
> For a long moment, he stared. Then he choked up again - except this time, _this_  time, what bubbled up out of his vocalizer was tittering laughter.
> 
> “P-Prowl, you couldn’t have - I can’t  _believe_  -” More giggling as he reached forward to touch the handprint, incredulously running his paw across the imprint of five distinct fingers. “That is, I  **can** believe - that  _is_  your handprint - i-it’s just -”
> 
> And then he collapsed onto his chest, suitably relieved, shoulders still shaking along with his laughter. Yes, Prowl was real. Because there was no way Tarantulas himself would think up such an abrupt and stupidly  _perfect_ way of proving Prowl’s existence, definitely not in the headspace he was in right now. It wasn’t irrefutable, but it was immensely convincing, _p_ < .05.
> 
> …That meant the apology was real. Prowl had honestly, earnestly, and at length, apologized for - for murdering Mesothulas. For trying to kill Tarantulas. ( _Same thing_ , Tarantulas chided himself.) Prowl regretted - in the tertiary sense - what he’d done, and wanted to try to make up for the nearly-irreparable damage he’d inflicted. Prowl had looked him in the optics -  _him_ , Tarantulas - and said he was sorry. That he never should have done it, that there was absolutely no excuse.
> 
> Tarantulas’s titters had already tapered off into hiccuping, and now without warning, the hiccuping devolved into sobs again. Softer ones, weaker, but still breathless and pained - and after a moment muted too, muffled by paws that’d shuffled underneath to fully cover Tarantulas’s face.
> 
> (A flicker of an afterthought: maybe Tarantulas had doubted Prowl’s existence because it was easier to panic than it was to actually process the apology he’d just been given - but the thought was barely conscious before it vanished. Too painful to compute.)

Prowl

> Was that hysterical laughter or relieved laughter? Propped up on an elbow, Prowl watched worriedly as Tarantulas examined the handprint. (See? See? You can’t get five fingers out of a two-pronged paw. Please see.)
> 
> And then Tarantulas said he  _did_  see, and collapsed on the floor, and Prowl collapsed next to him, sighing in relief.
> 
> “… Sorry ‘bout your crate.” Yeah.  _Sorry_  didn’t sound like a real word anymore.
> 
> This wasn’t a good position to resume comforting Tarantulas from, but Prowl tried to roll on his side, wrapped an arm around the back of Tarantulas’s waist, and listened to him sob until he fell silent. He didn’t have anything else he could say to make a difference. “… I—”
> 
> No. He pressed his helm against Tarantulas’s upper arm.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas twitched as Prowl touched his waist, but proceeded to pull Prowl in even closer anyway with the help of a few curled spider limbs. There. Tucked close together, lying there on the floor in the middle of the Tor, they’d wait for his sobbing to abate. 
> 
> Prowl’s lonely, cut-off pronoun hushed Tarantulas in anticipation - but no, it wasn’t anything. Nevermind. Shaking slightly, he gave a long, ventilated sigh, onlining his visor again underneath his paws. There hadn’t been any optic pigment to cry out for quite some time, so there was no reason why  _not_  to have the visor on, was there? (It had nothing to do with Mesothulas, he told himself. Nothing.) Shoulders falling, frame loosening, he rearranged himself so he could rest his forehelm on his arms, still face-down, neither toward nor away from Prowl. 
> 
> After a moment, things seemed to settle, both in and outside of Tarantulas’s helm. When his vocalizer came back on, it was in a thin, helpless whisper that wound its way out of his mandibles and mess of arms.
> 
> “P-please, please,  _please_  d-don’t ever push me away again… Not - not like t-that. Don’t… don’t push me away, d-don’t leave me…  _Please_ …”

Prowl

> He let Tarantulas pull him in, curling up against his side, caged under Tarantulas’s legs. He was staying as long as Tarantulas needed.
> 
> Prowl’s optics squeezed shut at Tarantulas’s voice. Primus, Tarantulas—don’t ask Prowl for promises he can’t keep. He doesn’t want to tell you lies. He can’t know that it’s never going to become necessary to leave Tarantulas again. (In fact, it probably  _will_  be necessary someday, knowing who Tarantulas is—knowing who Prowl is.)
> 
> Still, he tried to slide his free arm under Tarantulas’s waist, pulling him closer. He had to give Tarantulas something. “I’ll never push you away like that again,” he whispered. “You have my word.” It was the best he could do; not a promise to never leave Tarantulas, but a promise to never leave him  _like that_. If he ever had to leave again—he would be kinder. He could offer that much.

Tarantulas

> _Like that_. Like that. Not like that. The qualifier stuck in Tarantulas’s mind as he processed Prowl’s promise. It was what he’d said too, so he really couldn’t blame Prowl for keeping the qualifier tacked on… but that didn’t mean it didn’t scare him anyway. Prowl might not throw him into the Noisemaze again, but he  _could_  still push him away at any time, with no explanation at all.
> 
> (Sometimes it felt like he already might be doing so. Prowl’s recent depressive reticence reminded Tarantulas of what N-Prowl had been like toward the end of their partnership, which was intensely frightening. Tarantulas shivered.)
> 
> in any case, Tarantulas turned his helm sideways toward Prowl, his visor dim as he searched the other’s face. “…T-thank you.” Weak, broken vocals. “I-I… thank you. And for the apology, too. On - on Mesothulas’s behalf.” He had to keep up their dancing around the truth, of course.

Prowl

> With Tarantulas’s visor on and the lights so dim it was like nobody was looking back at Prowl, it was almost easy for Prowl to meet his gaze. But all the same, he wished the visor had been bright.
> 
> “… The promise wasn’t good enough, was it?” he asked, softly. “It wasn’t very good. Let me—I’m going to try again.”
> 
> He turned his optics off so he could focus. “I… can’t promise, that… there will  _never_  be circumstances in which I’d have to leave you. I can’t predict the future with that degree of certainty, and I'm—I’m not going to lie to you by pretending I can,” he said. “But, I can promise this. If I ever do decide I have to leave, it—it won’t be sudden, it won’t be surprising, and it won’t be unexplained. I won’t leave without telling you, far ahead of time, that I’m considering it, and why—and, it won’t be without… trying to fix it. Without giving  _both_  of us a chance to fix it. So even if— _if_ —I have to leave again—and I, I don’t want to, but if I have to… it’s not going to be a—a betrayal. That's—”
> 
> He choked on his last words.
> 
> His optics flashed back on. “… That’s all.”

Tarantulas

> Even though Prowl’s amended promise had emotion rising in Tarantulas’s chest again, he couldn’t find it in himself to cry anymore. No, he was simply too exhausted. Their meeting - this tumultuous discussion - had drained him of more than just his optic color.
> 
> “I-I…” Tarantulas’s visor flickered. “I can… f-for lack of a better term… I can accept that. H-hyeh.” Certainly better than nothing, even though the fear of abandonment still loomed in the back of his mind. “And suffice to say - I’ll never leave without explanation myself, either. But… you already knew that.” A slight quirk of his visor, in lieu of a small smile.

Prowl

> Still not good enough. But it was as good as Prowl could offer.
> 
> He nodded. “… Which means, of course, that if I ever contact you to inform you that we’re through with no explanation and no forewarning, you’re to interpret it as a coded message that something is very wrong and I need help, but for some reason I’m not at liberty to say so out loud.” Ever the pragmatist.

Tarantulas

> Another visor quirk - apparently the thought was somehow vaguely humorous to Tarantulas. “Let’s hope that never comes to pass.”
> 
> For a moment he fell silent, pensive, his visor still dim but focused on Prowl’s face. Primus, what a visit this’d been. They’d started out with lightsparked web jewelry and ended up tangled together on the floor of his lab, but… definitely not in a way he’d have preferred.
> 
> Did he regret all of this, though? …No. No, he didn’t. He couldn’t put it to words, but somehow he felt different, as if he was no longer the same mech who’d come into this conversation. Not  _bad_ , just - different.

Prowl

> …At the moment, Prowl couldn’t say he was glad he was still around too. “Hmm.”
> 
> What he  _should_  say (he realized a moment too late) was that he was glad  _Tarantulas_  was around. But now that he’d waited a little too long—now that he’d  _thought_  about it—he couldn’t say it without sounding fake.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t seem too concerned that Prowl hadn’t responded in kind; in fact, the more Tarantulas thought about it, it seemed Prowl had already insinuated as much. Regretting having killed Mesothulas basically amounted to being glad Tarantulas was still around, right?
> 
> Another chevron nuzzle, and Tarantulas shifted and turned, suddenly wanting more Prowl, more contact, more closeness. Being face-down had been suitable while he was in tumult, but apparently no longer.

Prowl

> As Tarantulas shifted, Prowl shifted too, to move closer to him and adjust his embrace. He’ll take all the closeness Tarantulas can offer.

Tarantulas

> More shuffling around - though eventually Tarantulas gave up with small motions, instead simply rolling onto his back and half-lifting Prowl on top of him. That should work, right?
> 
> After they’d settled back in, though: “…Hyeh. We… probably ought not lie here too long. For danger of drifting off, if nothing else.” Not that Tarantulas thought  _he_  would, but he suspected Prowl might.

Prowl

> He let Tarantulas roll him over, and lay half on top of him, his hips next to Tarantulas’s, head resting on his chest.
> 
> “What’s wrong with drifting off?”

Tarantulas

> “Hmmn, I… well…” A pause, during which Tarantulas stroked Prowl’s lower back. “I suppose there’s nothing…  _fundamentally_  wrong with it, it’s just…”
> 
> How could he say ‘ _it’s just anticlimactic_ ’ without being awfully blunt about it? Maybe… something about wanting more resolution, more closure? But what would Prowl have to say in response? Nothing, likely. So Tarantulas let the unfinished sentence hang in the air as it was.

Prowl

> It’s just…?
> 
> “… You’d rather I leave.” It would make sense for Tarantulas to not be willing to admit that, after—after all this. But Prowl didn’t blame Tarantulas for being sick of Prowl’s presence. Prowl was sick of Prowl’s presence.

Tarantulas

> “ ** _No_** , I -” Tarantulas frantically clutched at the kibble on Prowl’s avatar, as if it would keep him from leaving. “I - you promised  _seconds_  ago you, you wouldn’t - I know it’s different but - don’t - don’t leave.”  _Please don’t leave_.
> 
> “It’s just - I don’t think I’ll drift off. Not that I mind if you do, but -”

Prowl

> “I’m not!” Dammit, Prowl. “I’m not. Not if you don’t want me to. I’m staying. Until you want me to go or until my work shift starts, whichever comes first.”
> 
> He slid his arms under Tarantulas’s back, along the bases of his spider legs—there, look, now his forearms are trapped by Tarantulas’s weight, he’s not going anywhere—and turned off his optics. “Then do you want me to move? So you can get up and go do something else if I drift off?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas shuddered. This feeling - the tightness, the anxiety - it was just like those times so very long ago when Prowl would stop in for a project update, and Tarant - no, Mesothulas - would beg him to stay just a tiny bit longer…
> 
> Except this time Prowl said he  _would_  stay. It didn’t help with the closure or resolution Tarantulas wanted, but - that was something, at least.
> 
> “Nnnn… no.” Tarantulas forced himself to relax his grip on Prowl’s kibble, and eventually resumed petting his spinal strut in small strokes. “I’ll be fine, no need to worry about me, hyeh. If - if it comes to it, I can do work remotely.”

Prowl

> Tarantulas shuddered, and Prowl held him tighter. He wasn’t leaving. See? He didn’t want to go. This was why he came here. Not for business, not for some project.  _This_  was what he wanted. Tarantulas wrapped around him, and his face against Tarantulas’s chest.
> 
> He’d made a mess of that, hadn’t he? Even though they were  _here_  now, somehow it was spoiled.
> 
> Work remotely? Prowl contemplated that a moment. “… Can we both use the hologram projector at the same time?”

Tarantulas

> Honestly, this situation wasn’t Prowl’s fault - blame it on the song, if blame need be placed. Neither of them could have foreseen this coming, for sure.
> 
> Tarantulas hummed softly. “It depends on what you mean. On the same projected object - yes. On different projected objects - maybe. What were you thinking…?”

Prowl

> The song was innocent. All the song did was exist. Prowl was the one who’d broken down. This was the fault of his own inability to control himself.
> 
> “You said you could keep working remotely. I assumed that was how you planned to.”

Tarantulas

> “Oh.” Tarantulas briefly felt foolish, but it passed. “No, no, I’d be working in my processor… Calculations and brainstorming, mostly.”

Prowl

> “Ah.”
> 
> A moment of silence.
> 
> “… Can I see?”

Tarantulas

> One of Tarantulas’s paws came up to pet the side of Prowl’s helm. “I - I don’t see why not. Is there… let me see…” A bit of mental scrolling through projects. “Is there anything in particular you’d want me to work on?”

Prowl

> He let Tarantulas pet his head for a few seconds. And then reached up to wordlessly move Tarantulas’s paw from Prowl’s head to his shoulder.
> 
> “Whatever you want.” As long as he can watch. Something to fill his mind.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas knew he shouldn’t touch the back of Prowl’s helm, but not even the  _side_? He pouted for a moment before settling for stroking his shoulder instead.
> 
> “Very well.” A soft purr, mostly just to calm himself more. “I might as well start in on a little bit of work now… unless there’s anything else you wanted to say before I do?”

Prowl

> “Mmno.” If he needed to say something later, he’d say something later.
> 
> For now, he just wanted to listen to Tarantulas think.

Tarantulas

> A nod. Tarantulas figured he might as well check.
> 
> _Ping_. There you go, Prowl - a direct line into Tarantulas’s HUD. It’s not exactly listening to his thoughts, but it’s close. He’ll let you listen as long as you like.

Prowl

> Listening, watching—whichever. He’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And then they laid there until Prowl either fell asleep or had to leave for his next shift.


	55. Three's a Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's exactly what's on the tin, folks. Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's definitely rated **Mature**.
> 
> Context: this was post-movie-night discussion. The three of them are sitting on a couch with Prowl in the middle. Tarantulas starts eating a bunch of snacks, but turns away so neither Prowl nor Soundwave can see his opened mandibles, supposedly for politeness' sake, since opened mandibles/faces are risque in Soundwave's universe. Ultimately he offers to show them his mouthpieces anyway, and this happens.

Tarantulas

> ...What should Tarantulas even _do_. How did one go about revealing strange body parts.
> 
> "I suppose there's no reason why I oughtn't, hyeh. Do control your biolights Soundwave, I'm giving you fair warning." Amused visor quirk.

Soundwave

> Soundwave promptly wrestles them into submission and forces them to dim as far as they can go without causing him to start overheating. Rude. Just because he has more than one way to communicate...

Prowl

> "Let him illuminate the room if he wants." He's _trying_ to be supportive. It may or may not be working.

Soundwave

> It's working. Grateful ping.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas has plenty of ways to communicate too, but he at least tries to moderate himself. Sometimes. Maybe.
> 
> ...Not this time though. He's going to be unfair and mimic the clicking pattern as he wiggles opens his mandibles and subsequently displays his chelicerae, which fidget oddly flirtatiously.
> 
> ([x](http://68.media.tumblr.com/a7b6c98c9cba4e3702595aba29234571/tumblr_ok28a0Ge6k1rta5yso1_1280.jpg))

Prowl

> Hi hello yes guess who's no longer paying attention to anything else in the world.

Soundwave

> Is it Prowl? It's Prowl, isn't it?
> 
> Soundwave's still paying some attention to his surroundings, but most is successfully snared and held. Congratulations, Tarantulas. And no, he's not glowing brighter. He's watching his internal temperature readings starting to nudge higher, though.
> 
> [[...What are those?]]

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is insanely flattered by the attention, thank you. Currently a bit nervous, but still.
> 
> "Might as well call them chelicerae, for lack of a better term, mostly due to the fang components." Which are totally flicking and poking in the audience's direction.

Prowl

> And Prowl's hands are ever-so-slightly squeezing tighter.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is just gonna go ahead and get this over with and stretch and manipulate the chelicerae a bit before opening his maw properly now too, pretty gosh darn widely. There's definitely a glossa in there, and to Soundwave's likely surprise, it looks fairly normal for a mech, if a bit long.

Prowl

> Make that a lot tighter.

Soundwave

> Sorry, Prowl. He knows you were leaning on him, but he wants a closer look. His arm will go back to being a chair in a second.

Prowl

> Oh, no no, that's perfectly fine, in fact he's going to lean in a bit himself.

Soundwave

> Oh, good. He won't feel as bad then. Is the glossa split? He knows he recognized two parts in that memory, damn it.
> 
> ...He's gonna try to touch.
> 
> The chelicerae, mind you. He's seen the mandibles. He's more curious about these.

Tarantulas

> In any case Tarantulas's visor flares a little, and his chelicerae make a snatch at the incoming digit(s).
> 
> " _Rude_."
> 
> Probably a little odd to hear the voice and not see much mouth movement, but the two are technically separate for Tarantulas.
> 
> "Didn't anyone ever teach you to ask before you touch?"

Soundwave

> [[Yes. Of course. He apologizes.]] He shakes his head. [[He will refrain.]]

Prowl

> Prowl promptly records Tarantulas's quote to use against him the next time he starts overstepping his bounds.

Tarantulas

> _Damn_ you, Prowl.
> 
> Some snickering, and Tarantulas lets go with the chelicerae. "You might as well go on, though. I wasn't about to say _no_."

Soundwave

> Soundwave withdraws his hand.
> 
> And then, after a moment's thought, taps Prowl's. Here. You do it.

Prowl

> He starts. Then looks at Soundwave. "What?"

Tarantulas

> The fuzzy paw on Prowl's same hand helps nudge him too. Tarantulas's got this.

Soundwave

> Point. Prowl doesn't want to feel them?

Tarantulas

> If Prowl doesn't get it by then, Tarantulas is gonna use his paw to guide Prowl's hand to his open maw so he can explore.

Prowl

> _This is all moving so fast._

Tarantulas

> Touchhhhhh. C'mon. You know you want to, Prowl.
> 
> "I promise I won't bite."
> 
> Of course, not right now.

Soundwave

> Of course it's moving fast. He's sitting between two vortexes of curiosity.
> 
> He's lucky he hasn't been accidentally transported into some kind of shadowzone.

Prowl

> "... Disappointing."
> 
> All right. Okay. All right. He supposes he's doing this now. He carefully reaches out and runs his thumb along the edge of one chelicera.
> 
> Soundwave's thigh is lucky that holomatter avatars don't have much crushing strength behind them.

Soundwave

> Prowl wouldn't hear much complaining at the moment even if they did.

Tarantulas

> Prowl probably can't feel the texture _too_ well, but it's pretty definitely more organic than it is metallic. The upper edge is fairly sharp with backward-facing ridges, and the fangs themselves are more designed for puncture.
> 
> The chelicerae are going to gently grab at Prowl's thumb and play with it, making it even easier for Tarantulas to get a lick in with his glossa.
> 
> "Do you _want_ me to, hmmn?"

Soundwave

> Please ignore the tiny boost in light from behind Prowl.

Tarantulas

> You're lucky Tarantulas is almost wholly focused on Prowl right now, Soundwave. You get a pass this time.

Prowl

> He was just barely working up the nerve to brush his thumb over Tarantulas's actual FANGS—the mysterious BOTTOM LAYER of his face—when suddenly he's the one being grabbed.
> 
> His voice isn't nearly as steady as his poker face. "I—wouldn't complain."

Tarantulas

> Another lick - Prowl _did_ taste lovely - and a drag of a fang on Prowl's digit plating. "Not a proper answer, but I'll take it."

Prowl

> Prowl's optics are quickly joining Soundwave's biolights.

Tarantulas

> And then Tarantulas' glossa's smoothly parting and wrapping around Prowl's hand and between his fingers, only to tug it in a bit so the mandibles can chomp down. Or, well - chomp inward, really.
> 
> Prowl's trapped, oh no, how _awful_.

Prowl

> It could _split_. And his mandibles _pulled_. Oh, wonderful strange revelation— He excitedly pings both discoveries to Soundwave, even though Soundwave had obviously just seen one himself.
> 
> And then he cautiously starts moving his fingers, exploring the inside of Tarantulas's mouth.

Soundwave

> Soundwave's turn to squeeze. The hand that was loosely settled around Prowl's shoulder curls tight, and then tighter still at the ping. This is Prowl's moment. He can wait to - Primus, does he have to do that.

Tarantulas

> A hum, and Tarantulas's two tongues are twining around those explorative fingers, not really stopping them, just making a nuisance of themselves. Prowl won't find much but vaguely ridged surfaces inside the maw proper, with a little bit of give when touched.
> 
> The whole mouthpiece is a mixture of textures Prowl's probably never felt, and probably won't for some time, given how insensitive the avatar is.
> 
> The paw that'd brought Prowl's hand up was softly stroking Prowl's arm all the while.

Prowl

> Because he's trying not to press too hard—he doesn't know what Tarantulas's gag reflex is like—he's mainly figuring out the interior of Tarantulas's mouth based on where he feels that his fingers can no longer move. And it's a fascinating exploration—just _knowing that it's Tarantulas's mouth_ makes it fascinating—it's not exactly yielding much information.
> 
> So, after a moment, his fingers still. And he says, so very very cooly and calmly, "It occurs to me that perhaps fingers are not the optimum tool for examining a mouth."

Soundwave

> Soundwave spoils whatever cool and calm there was to that statement by emitting a tiny huff and shaking. Prowl can probably feel that. He's not sorry.

Prowl

> He notices it. He glances at Soundwave and asks, _extra_ cooly and calmly, "Provided you don't mind?"

Soundwave

> He flicks a hand. No, he doesn't much mind.
> 
> [[As you please.]]

Tarantulas

> Nope, no gagging, but maybe a swallow if Prowl pressed too far back.
> 
> An amused squint of his glowing visor, and Tarantulas loosens his mandibled grip. He almost forgot Soundwave was there, actually. "He can leave if it makes him uncomfortable, but _something_ tells me he wouldn't mind."
> 
> If/when Prowl removes his hand, he might find some pink-tinted oral lubricant trailed on it from the tongues and such.

Prowl

> In that case, with both of their permission—he gently tugs his leg free of Soundwave's feeler, rolls over to straddle Tarantulas's waist, wraps his arms over Tarantulas's shoulders, and enthusiastically buries his face between Tarantulas's mandibles.

Soundwave

> Soundwave swings to face both of them and picks his legs up, drawing them close to his chest so he can watch without needing to twist himself in uncomfortable ways. Now _that_ is a sight to behold, and he is more than happy to do so.

Tarantulas

> _Hnng_. Tarantulas has been wanting to do this for - for forever, really. If Soundwave's touching him in any capacity, he's going to get a mental faceful of scorching, hungry desire. And Prowl, he's going to get a few arms wrapped around him, pulling him in as close as their frames allow.
> 
> The mandibles themselves won't do much but tease at the sides of Prowl's face up toward his audials, but the chelicerae will caress his cheeks, and split glossa immediately lavishes whatever it can with attention.

Prowl

> And, in return, Prowl lavishes Tarantulas right back with everything he has to offer: glossa flicking out to drag along and between Tarantulas's, lips pressing kisses to the base of his chelicerae and sucking on his fangs, dentae occasionally scraping against his fangs in the process. He may not have as much to work with as Tarantulas, but by Primus, does he do his best to make up the difference with intensity.
> 
> Just once, he casts his over-bright gaze sideways toward Soundwave, trying to gauge whether he's enjoying the show. A wordless, questioning ping.

Soundwave

> Soundwave responds to the ping with the most appropriate answer he can imagine: a graph charting the rise of his internal temperature over the last few minutes. Oh, yes, Prowl. Tarantulas was right about him. Don't worry about that.
> 
> As a matter of fact, he might even be taking notes. Tarantulas isn't the only one with mandibles and fangs, after all.

Prowl

> _Oh_. **Graphs**. Prowl's thighs tighten around Tarantulas's.

Tarantulas

> Maybe not quite the same mandibles and fangs, but still. Good on you, Soundwave.
> 
> Faced with this level of enthusiasm, Tarantulas can hardly hold himself back. Every bite and lick and kiss is reciprocated in a slightly dissimilar fashion - mandibles locking around the sides of Prowl's face; fangs catching on Prowl's lip and tugging, threatening to scratch and puncture; tongues dancing along Prowl's, tracing his lips and pressing in to explore Prowl's mouth in a way he hadn't been able to that one time they'd kissed so long ago.
> 
> If no one stops him, Tarantulas will be content - no, thrilled - to keep making out with Prowl the whole night, if not more of course.
> 
> Oh, and that tighten of Prowl's thighs earns him a tighter grasp with Tarantulas's arms, and maybe a claw or two in the seams of his back.

Soundwave

> Soundwave doesn't intend to stop either of them. If they carry on like that much longer, he'll probably drop the door shutters and seal the stairwell to the second floor so nobody peeks in.
> 
> But Prowl (and to a much lesser extent, Tarantulas) is right there in front of him, and Tarantulas' paws are roaming, and... and to Pit with it. He's going to let his fans whir to life before he roasts himself alive. And then, _then_ , he's going to get up, stand behind Prowl, and lean as close to Prowl's audial as he dares. Opportunities should be taken whenever available, if possible.
> 
> ▓▒░Provided you don't mind?░▒▓
> 
> The playback is loud enough to make it clear he's asking Tarantulas, too.

Prowl

> Scratch and puncture away—the scrapes fizz with static, as though liquid electricity is surging mere millimeters below the surface of Prowl's facial mesh, looking for any gap to leak out, tickling across Tarantulas's fangs. Without thinking, Prowl parts his lips, letting Tarantulas's twin glossae slide between them, and finally between his dentae.
> 
> (Somewhere back in reality, Prowl's knees are squeezed closed and his hands are gripping the edges of his berth. Self-control, self-control, self-control—neither of the others had gone past kisses and medium petting, he wasn't going to either. But oh, did Soundwave's question shake his resolve.)
> 
> The shudder up Prowl's spinal strut is likely answer enough; but in case it isn't, Soundwave also receives four affirmative pings and an " _Uh-huh_ " hummed around Tarantulas's tongues.

Tarantulas

> Even with the intensity of Prowl's kiss, Tarantulas is peripherally aware of Soundwave moving - blame it on his weakness for exhibition, if you will. He certainly doesn't miss the playback either, strange as it is to hear Prowl's voice coming from Soundwave.
> 
> Instantly Tarantulas's grip becomes possessive and inescapable, and a few spider limbs are ready to shove at Soundwave if he tries to pull Prowl away. Was that a tiny bit of a growl? Did it sound vaguely like the word " _mine_ "?
> 
> Don't mind all that, Prowl. Just focus on how Tarantulas's tongues are everywhere in your mouth at once, and how his fangs - both of them now - sink all too easily into the mesh of your outer lip.

Soundwave

> He swiftly straightens up and holds both hands up, palm sides out. Listen to him. He's not trying to steal Prowl away. Far from it.
> 
> One hand slowly stretches toward the nearest paw so he can transfer a thought - a constructed mental image of himself lavishing attention on Prowl from behind while Tarantulas carries on as he was from the front. Wisps of intense, almost painful longing flicker around its edges like a thousand tiny candle flames in a breeze. He doesn't want to interrupt, to separate them. He wants to add to it.
> 
> Please, Tarantulas.

Prowl

> For a split second, as Tarantulas grasps him tighter and it occurs to Prowl that he might not let go if Prowl asked, fear jolts his spark—but just as quickly it vanishes, as he remembers that _he's not here, he's safe, he can do anything and he'll be safe._
> 
> The reminder spurs him on to even more enthusiasm, leaning into Tarantulas, encouraging him to tear deeper static holes in Prowl's lip that seal as soon as the fangs are gone, his tongue clumsily twining with Tarantulas's—
> 
> And a second realization: his tongue is so clumsy because he's not used to having someone else's tongue in his mouth. Usually it's _impossible_. Prowl's not gagging.
> 
> Which is important enough that he feels the need to ping this revelation to both Tarantulas and Soundwave at the same time.

Soundwave

> Prowl would be safe anyway. As interested as Soundwave's been by this little encounter, if Tarantulas did _anything_ to actually threaten or hurt Prowl... well, there's no need to think about that right now.
> 
> The revelation about the missing gag reflex comes while he's waiting for Tarantulas' response. Behind the visor, he smiles, pleased that the avatar gives Prowl _something_ he can't normally experience in exchange for reduced sensitivity. That can't be seen, though, so he opts to send Prowl an encouraging ping.

Tarantulas

> Ah Primus, Soundwave's mental image. Mark Tarantulas down as insanely conflicted for a moment while he tries to shove down his possessiveness.
> 
> And then the ping from Prowl - that was a thing, huh? Well then, Tarantulas was glad to have sidestepped the gag reflex entirely for now. If anything, it was _his_ turn to be spurred on, tongues even teasing as far back as Prowl's throat. The thought of more did cross his mind.
> 
> Back to the possessiveness - shove it down, Tarantulas, just give up. You _know_ you honestly want Soundwave in this too...
> 
> Aw _frag_. Alright then. Tarantulas is going to beckon Soundwave in with a spare limb, ironically making sure not to lose that contact with Soundwave's hand if possible.

Soundwave

> A completely different thought passes through Soundwave's, but he manages to keep that one to himself... mostly. He'd already said he didn't want to interrupt.
> 
> Tarantulas doesn't need to beckon twice. Soundwave's fingers immediately seek out Prowl's sides, sliding down Prowl's hips and over his thighs as Soundwave steps closer. They dig in and clutch tight, both to keep Prowl still and to steady him as he rearranges his knee configuration and sinks down in front of the seat. With both hands busy, he's forced to use a feeler to lift his visor halfway up and expose his mouth; it's awkward, but it works.
> 
> He puts his newfound freedom to good use and, humming to himself, licks a long, wet stripe up Prowl's spinal strut.
> 
> Hello. He'll be your other companion for this flight.

Tarantulas

> Gah. Not fair. Soundwave _would_ put himself somewhere Tarantulas couldn't see his face, wouldn't he.

Soundwave

> Tarantulas won't see his face regardless of where he stands. There's more to it than just a mouth, and he's not taking that visor all the way off. Probably.

Prowl

> Prowl tenses, practically trembling, in anticipation, as Soundwave's fingers prickle over his sides and then dig into his thighs.
> 
> Out of all the things he expected Soundwave to do—licking straight up his back hadn't been on the list. Not that Prowl is complaining in the slightest. A one-word suggestion to Soundwave: «Teeth?» Far easier to feel.

Tarantulas

> Definitely easier to feel, and a nice parallel to the fangs in Prowl's lip, likely so. Tarantulas tugs hard enough to rip the wounds open even more, loving the virtual taste of static gushing from them.
> 
> And although the possessiveness itself has loosened its hold, Tarantulas's actual hold hasn't in the least. Roaming, yes; scratching, yes; sinking and digging into seams, definitely; but it's demanding in its pressure. Don't think Tarantulas has forgotten how insensitive the avatar is - he's doing his best to overexaggerate every little motion, lest Prowl miss a single one.

Soundwave

> What little hold Soundwave still had on his lighting crumbles to dust at last. They flare to full, adoration-fueled life as he rubs his cheek against Prowl's arm and plants a few simple, lingering kisses there, more for his own benefit than Prowl's. This isn't exactly what he wants, but that isn't something he can have yet, so he'll take a brief moment to indulge himself and just... imagine it.
> 
> One last nuzzle. If only this wasn't just a construct...
> 
> He opens his mouth wide and, rumbling, sinks his fangs deep into the avatar's shoulder, biting down until the light touches their base.

Prowl

> The armor resists, punctures, and bends like true armor; but Soundwave's bite sinks into pure crackling electricity, dancing in and around Soundwave's mouth.
> 
> Between Soundwave's fangs sinking as deep into Prowl's shoulder he can get, Tarantulas's tearing his lip apart, and all the little clawing and caressing across his frame, he arches his back, pressing his chest against Tarantulas's and pressing his hips back toward Soundwave's. More, more.
> 
> He lets out a quiet, needy groan (and somewhere back in reality, his panels snap open. Dammit. He consciously shuts them again—but not without difficulty).

Soundwave

> The things Soundwave had missed out on, living on a planet where hard light technology remained a rarity. He startles, surprised into temporarily forgetting his grip on Prowl's thighs by the electricity's return bite, but it's short-lived; roaring hunger quickly kicks it aside and floods his frame with the desire for another 'taste'.
> 
> One of Soundwave's feelers curls around Tarantulas' ankle to reconnect them while he licks roughly over the spot he'd just bitten, relishing the tingling against his glossa as it reforms. Strange, but it means he can bite Prowl as many times as he wants - so he does, nibbling his way toward the other side. Does Tarantulas know about this? What is he doing up front? Soundwave'll share the sensation if Tarantulas will. And the recording.
> 
> The other feeler skips over Soundwave's claws as they resettle themselves on Prowl's shifting hips and pull. Still too far from his own, but he can't drag Prowl down to the floor with him, so he lets the tendrils speak for him, dancing along the top of the hourglass shape with firm steps. So pretty. So sharp. So _red_...

Tarantulas

> Oh yes, Tarantulas does know plenty about hard light avatars. He hasn't been sure of the level of sophistication of Prowl's, but it doesn't surprise him to learn of that electric bite in return for Soundwave's own. A little bit of a disappointment actually, considering that it means none of the internals are mapped out, but nevermind that.
> 
> "Share the sensation"? Is that something Soundwave can do in the background? Because like pits is Tarantulas going out of his way to push his current sensations across the telepathic link. If it _is_ low-effort on his part though, please do sign him up.
> 
> (In the back of Tarantulas's mind the word "recording" echoes tantalizingly, and there's a few clicks as his torso plating loosens to let out his sudden uptick in temperature. Yyyyep, yes, he'd definitely like a copy of that.)
> 
> Prowl's chest pressing forward earns him a low purr from Tarantulas, but the way Prowl moves his hips backward - no, they certainly can't have that. Arm tangling with Soundwave's feeler, Tarantulas grasps Prowl's aft and hip with his paw and firmly keeps him from scooting back any more as they kiss.

Prowl

> His back kibble twitches and flexes with each bite Soundwave leaves across it. His light bar flickers on dully to watch Soundwave—oh, he can just barely see Soundwave's mouth from this angle, the glow of his fangs...
> 
> Prowl's engine roars, his chest vibrating against Tarantulas's, as he feels Soundwave's caresses move between his legs. (This time, when his panels pop open, he doesn't bother trying to close them.)
> 
> Tarantulas's efforts to keep Prowl in place are counterproductive: Prowl feels a paw grabbing tightly at his hip, and his first instinct is to arch back into it, increasing the pressure—and trying to get a little closer to Soundwave. From Tarantulas he's got thighs, chest, face, mouth, arms, legs, legs, legs... and from Soundwave he's got fangs and tendrils. This isn't balanced. He needs a lot more Soundwave.

Soundwave

> Soundwave can do that in the background, yes, as long as Tarantulas is willing to let him dive a tad deeper than his usual surface skim. Seeking out touches and tastes is heavier work when the other mech isn't helping.
> 
> ...Speaking of unhelpfulness. There's no room for him on Tarantulas' lap, and he didn't miss the greedy attempt to reclaim Prowl's hips. He'd content himself with his tiny share if they'd _both_ limited him, but he can _hear_ that engine roaring and those needy noises, so he pushes the restricting paw away. Whatever Prowl wants, Prowl _will_ eventually get. Besides, he hasn't finished tracing the outline of the hourglass.
> 
> The feeler coiling around Tarantulas' leg slithers upward to wrap Prowl's as well, claws kneading the thick rubber of the tire and catching on the treads as the tendrils slowly encourage it to spin for them. The feeling of nearby biolights lures another satisfied hum out of him while his claws work themselves beneath a crown-shaped piece of back plating near the light bar, searching for the connecting cables and wires he'd find on the real Prowl.
> 
> It's then that Soundwave notices he has a captive audience.
> 
> He silently mouths the word _greetings_ into the dull lights and smiles, knowing damn well Prowl won't have forgotten the last time he said it. It'll barely have time to finish registering before he splits his mouth open to tap the red 'glass' hello with his pincers.

Tarantulas

> Understandably distracted, Tarantulas quickly gives Soundwave the go-ahead to dive however deep he needs – sensory-wise, mind you, and he’ll _notice_ if Soundwave steps out of bounds.
> 
> Just like Soundwave just stepped out of bounds pushing his paw away from Prowl’s hips. Ah ah ah, that paw’s going _nowhere_ – in fact, it’s solidifying its grip and tugging none-too-gently, jerking Prowl in toward him as much as he can.
> 
> This isn’t the best idea, Tarantulas discovers, a split second after the fact. The way Prowl’s bumper juts out against Tarantulas’s chest means the closer Prowl’s hips are to Tarantulas’s, the further away his face is from the mandibles that’ve practically been eating said face. That jealous tug only makes those mandibles scrape ineffectively against Prowl’s cheeks as they’re pulled apart, leaving Tarantulas with a mouthful of sour _nothing_.
> 
> Well, at least Tarantulas does have Prowl’s hips, and a face-full of bumper, but it’s served up with a sizeable helping of chafing chagrin as well. Bah.

Soundwave

> Tarantulas _hopes_ he'd notice, anyway.
> 
> Soundwave bites back a hiss as the feeler in the front gets compressed and his arms are yanked forward to stop his fingers breaking off beneath Prowl's armor. It's painful, but only for a moment - the sight of Tarantulas getting exactly what he deserves for being greedy sends him into a fit of silent laughter, mandibles and shoulders shaking.

Prowl

> Prowl is no more pleased than Tarantulas when he's suddenly jerked away from his face. For a split second—surprise and a twinge of hurt on his face—he wonders what it was he did wrong to have his access to Tarantulas's mouth revoked.
> 
> But before he can start listing up the possibilities, much less calculating their probabilities, he figures it out. And fixes Tarantulas with a displeased look.
> 
> Although the fact that he can feel Soundwave laughing against his back prevents there being much ire behind it.
> 
> "Are we going to play nicely with my hips now?"

Soundwave

> [[He was _trying_ to play nicely with them.]]

Prowl

> The displeased look wavers as Prowl glances back over his shoulder. "I have no complaints about your performance."

Tarantulas

> Ooh boy, Tarantulas is _not_ having any backtalk from Soundwave right now, not with how it sounds like he’s one up on Tarantulas with Prowl. Still holding Prowl close, Tarantulas hisses and aims a kick roughly in the direction of Soundwave’s torso, hoping the spikes on his shins catch or puncture somehow.

Soundwave

> Well, Soundwave can't fronttalk him. He's on the wrong side of Prowl for that.
> 
> The spines score a hit, but not where he hopes, as Soundwave slips a hand loose to catch the impact with his arm. He doesn't even wince (mostly because he can barely feel it).
> 
> Now, if that's out of Tarantulas' system, he'll just... reach for Prowl's hip again. Like you do, when you want to make a point about sharing.

Prowl

> " _Hey_." Prowl unwraps one arm to place it flat on Tarantulas's chest. "That's _uncalled for_. There's no need to get physical."
> 
> Pause.
> 
> Correction: "... There's no need to get physically _violent_."

Tarantulas

> An irritated chitter. “But he -” Ah, excuses. Prowl isn’t going to take those, is he. Tarantulas struggles to form a valid argument for a while before giving up and simply muttering “ _glitch_ ” under his breath.
> 
> Then it’s back to deciding whether he’s going to _share_ or not, aaand… Time to delay by distracting Prowl with a simultaneous lick to both left headlights, tracing the inner edges with the tips of his tongues. And as for Soundwave’s silent reach toward Prowl’s hip, Tarantulas is just going to staunchly ignore it.

Soundwave

> Good. Soundwave has an idea, and it won't work if Tarantulas' reach exceeds his grasp a second time. Actually, it may not work at all, considering how small this couch is. But there's something to be said for trying, and his mouth is already in pieces, so...
> 
> Careful to keep out of sight - not that it's hard with Tarantulas' face buried in Prowl's bumper - he slides the other hand free as well and slowly pulls Prowl's hips up as well as back, hoping for better access to Prowl's legs (and a few other things).

Prowl

> Prowl shifts his hand to the side as Tarantulas leans down and starts, of all things, licking his headlights. "Don't change the to—" Beat. "... Never mind."
> 
> He's distracted enough that, for a moment, he doesn't notice what Soundwave's doing; but once he catches on, he helps out, moving his free hand to Tarantulas's shoulder for balance and sliding back on his knees.

Soundwave

> Soundwave lets his engine rumble approval when Prowl finishes helpfully rearranging himself, taking a second to savor the sight. There, now. Isn't that better? Tarantulas can steal Prowl's mouth again, with plenty of space to fit his paws between them for more thorough explorations, and Soundwave can work his claws into more than just the overlapping plates on Prowl's lower back.
> 
> Like, say, Tarantulas.
> 
> Which he soon does. Realizing that Prowl is balancing on himself on his knee guards and in real danger of slipping off the couch, Soundwave quickly stops teasing the tire and lets go. The feeler slithers behind Tarantulas instead, using his frame to support the figure eight it weaves through Prowl's thighs and doubling back to rub against Tarantulas' side in a plea for forgiveness.
> 
> He nips his way down to the... handles? Poking out of Prowl's calves while he waits. A cautious nuzzle, a less cautious lick, aaaand he's got one in his mouth.

Tarantulas

> As Prowl starts to move again, Tarantulas withdraws his tongues from the headlights. No, nonono... But there’s really nothing he can reasonably do to prevent the motions without getting more disapproval from both of the others, and if they decide to kick Tarantulas out, they actually literally can – and that is NOT what he wants right now.
> 
> Well, at least he gets Prowl’s face again, and a – what? A feeler wrapping around and rubbing at his side? Tarantulas certainly won’t complain; in fact, do go on, there are plenty of flared seams just waiting there to be teased.
> 
> Back to kissing Prowl now, glossae twining around Prowl’s to tug it out a little, so Tarantulas’s fangs can get a hold of that, too. Time to see how Prowl likes scrapes and holes in his glossa.
> 
> Also – and this is _totally_ just for support, mind – Tarantulas is going to slip his paw from Prowl's hip now to between Prowl’s legs, before Soundwave can get to Prowl's panels first. Will he be able to feel heat and static there just like he most certainly would in real life?

Prowl

> Not handles. Exhaust shaft, actually. But if Soundwave wants to wrap his mouth around one, Prowl won't... well, Prowl won't understand it, honestly. But he also won't complain. At least it won't be dirty or taste like exhaust, which is a plus. (... Unless Soundwave is into that? Prowl has no idea. He's not going to judge.)
> 
> More importantly, there's now a feeler partially restraining his legs. Which is a damn good start (and makes it that much harder to keep his hands from releasing their vice grip on the sides of the berth and moving between his legs). «Tighter.»
> 
> Oh, finally, _someone's_ between his legs; Prowl rocks his hips slightly into Tarantulas's paw. (And with that bit of progress, he finally lets himself let go of the berth with one hand—but doesn't go straight for his array. Instead he circles his hand around his upper thighs, his lower abdomen. Tarantulas isn't directly touching Prowl's equipment so Prowl isn't either.) There's less heat—mostly the same generic even heat his whole avatar gives off—but there is _certainly_ static in abundance.

Soundwave

> Soundwave isn't into that, no. He spends a few moments gently gnawing on the thing-that-isn't-a-handle to see if he can figure out what it's supposed to be - no, he can't - but not much more than that. It's less entertaining than he anticipated, and there's a paw between his feeler and Prowl's panel now, so he lets go of it and tilts his helm, thinking.
> 
> _Tighter_ , Prowl said. Well, all right.
> 
> The coils do as commanded, if not as expected. He pushes them up to trap Tarantulas' paw in place before squeezing hard enough the edges of Prowl's thighs almost make them start to ache.
> 
> Elsewhere, tendrils creep along the offered seams, scraping, prying, sliding beneath and delivering harmless brushes of static to anything within reach. Thin fingers explore the underside of Prowl's bumper in much the same way while Soundwave's glossa slips into one of the small gaps between thigh, panel, and paw to test them all.
> 
> Tarantulas still isn't allowed to inspect Soundwave's mandibles, but they'll inspect him, tapping curiously at the curved objects at the tip of that paw.

Tarantulas

> Frag, Tarantulas was not expecting _that_. Not that it’s disliked – the feeler tightening on Prowl’s legs pulls his knees together, which presses Tarantulas’s legs closed tight too. It doesn’t close his thigh gap – nothing ever can – but it definitely puts mechanical stress on his closed panel, drawing a cut-off noise from his vocalizer and into Prowl’s mouth.
> 
> And now his paw is _stuck_ , pressed hard against Prowl’s panels by the X of Soundwave’s feelers. Tarantulas gives a test wiggle to see if he can still rub the metal anyhow, but – ah, _what_? Soundwave’s doing something with the paw’s claws? A weird feeling, to be sure, something akin to having his thumbs twiddled by someone else.
> 
> Hmm, well, so long as Soundwave keeps up with those tendrils in his side seams, Tarantulas decides he can’t care less. Seems like you’ve found one of Tarantulas’s many sweet spots, Soundwave; either that or Tarantulas has a thing for electricity; or both, really. In any case, there’s some lowkey squirming going on.

Prowl

> On the other hand, there’s nothing lowkey about Prowl's squirming. Those fingers and tendrils and tongue caressing Prowl in places he can't even reach right now, his arms effectively trapped wrapped over Tarantulas's shoulders for balance; he rocks back against Soundwave's tongue, and finds that the feeler binding his legs is tight enough he can barely shift them. Oh, perfect, perfect—he tries to rock harder and delights in how little he moves, in how restricted his motion is.
> 
> To Soundwave: «What's your preference on your partners' noise levels?» Because all Prowl has to do is relax his vocalizer and he'll be moaning eagerly into Tarantulas's mouth, he just has to make sure it isn’t going to completely turn off Soundwave. (But somehow, he strongly doubts it will.)

Soundwave

> Prowl is right to doubt. Encouraged by the odd noise, Soundwave has already started methodically searching out and testing seams closer to Tarantulas' back. (He abandons the paw and its claws to their wiggling, though. They’re beautiful, and he wants them digging into his armor, but he heard Tarantulas calling the attention weird.)
> 
> (txt): free self. all volume, sounds, demands, pleas, topics wanted. exceptions: degradation, boasting.
> 
> The thought of another groan like the earlier one seizes hold of Soundwave and squeezes until he thinks it might crush his ventilation system. His hands curl deep into the seams they've been teasing, and for one long, selfish moment, he secretly entertains the idea of bridging Tarantulas away and claiming every sound with _his_ mouth instead.
> 
> Instead, he slips his fingers loose and reaches for both of Prowl's hands, pinning one against the fluff of Tarantulas' shoulder and tugging on the other in an effort to persuade Prowl to return the paw's favor and mind Tarantulas’s thigh gap for a while. Tarantulas probably wants more than just kisses, and _he_ wants not to get a faceful of fuzz while he mouths the pretty red and black paneling in front of him.

Tarantulas

> Seams closer to Tarantulas’s back, hm? Turns out they’re not as sensitive as the ones in the front, but still quite nice. An unconscious thought – the difference just _might_ be because of egg-related reasons.
> 
> Tarantulas approves of Soundwave’s hand clasping at Prowl’s on his shoulder, but the tug on the other one prompts instant distaste. That is, until Tarantulas overhears Soundwave’s intentions for said hand. _Oh_ , yes please. Although, is Soundwave cleared to participate in activities like this around Tarantulas? Or is this a technicality?
> 
> And don’t you think he didn’t hear about Soundwave wanting those claws in his plating. Hhnng. But please, the mental chatter – it _might_ be a little much for Tarantulas to handle in the face of higher-priority demands, like making out with Prowl still.
> 
> Which, Tarantulas is still very eager to bring to the forefront, even with his paw rubbing against Prowl’s panel. Almost petulantly, Tarantulas bites down hard on Prowl’s glossa and punctures straight through the fritzing light, then _pulls_. Pay. Attention. To. Me.

Prowl

> «I doubt you're getting any audible speech.» Considering that his mouth was still occupied and Tarantulas was determinedly trying to give Prowl a tongue piercing. «But I'll keep my vocalizer on.»
> 
> That wasn't the same as _freeing_ himself. _Freeing himself_ would consist of allowing his volume to drop to comfortable near-silence, rather than consciously keeping his vocalizer on and active. But the noise wasn't for his own benefit; it was for his partners.
> 
> He let Soundwave pin one hand and manipulate the other, not sure where he was being guided but disappointed when it didn't seem to be anywhere on Soundwave's body.
> 
> But—all right, he likes that target. He approves of where this is going. Even as Tarantulas bites through his glossa and pulls, Prowl slides his hand under Tarantulas's panel and grinds his heel against it.

Soundwave

> Some distant part of Soundwave logged the egg thought for later, but the rest of him stayed focused. Not the right time to stop and ask fifty questions. Also not the right time to bring more attention to himself. There was a thin line here (he could feel it behind Tarantulas' attack on Prowl's glossa) and it required careful walking.
> 
> Prowl's hand should be busy enough to keep Tarantulas happy. If he cautiously pushed the paw trapped between feelers and panel higher, closer to Prowl's abdomen - well, he hoped Tarantulas would consider an array for an array an acceptable balance.
> 
> Soundwave turned his helm to nip the top of Prowl's thigh and lap at the exposed joint, working his glossa into the grooves. He'd be happy to use it somewhere else as soon as he had the damn _room_...

Tarantulas

> Soundwave is _highly_ underestimating Tarantulas’s greed if he thinks Prowl’s hand is the extent of his desires, but it’ll suffice for the moment. The second Prowl’s fingers graze his organic crotchpiece it’s transformed away, and Tarantulas gives a low whine into Prowl’s mouth at the grind against his panel. Ah, but he shouldn’t retract it until Prowl does, he’s _determined_ not to. He’ll just roll his hips up into Prowl’s hand and let the friction and static mount higher.
> 
> And Soundwave seems _determined_ to push back at Tarantulas, apparently, or at least push that paw away. Urgh, OK, compromise – Tarantulas withdraws up Prowl’s abdomen, but digs his claws into the paneling over where he knows Prowl’s spike is tucked away.
> 
> And as for those “tongue piercings,” Tarantulas will let Prowl’s glossa go for now. Curious tongues take the place of fangs to see if the holes heal over or not.

Prowl

> He bucks back against Soundwave's glossa and quietly groans again, even as he stretches his tongue to meet Tarantulas's, showing off the damage; the holes linger for a moment, but in about ten seconds they seal shut again, as though they were never there.
> 
> Even as he starts running his hand around Tarantulas's array, digging into the seams and gaps, back in reality his hand is trembling as it circles his own exposed array, resisting the urge to touch. Instead he just circles, rubbing his thumb where Tarantulas is digging his claws, stroking his middle finger where Soundwave is running his tongue. But not touching. Not yet. Not until his avatar's array is open, and THAT isn't going to be until THEY want his array open—
> 
> Did they know that?
> 
> To both of them: «Tell me when you want me to open my panels.»

Tarantulas

> Immediately, with another whine: « ** _Now_**.»

Soundwave

> (txt): NOW
> 
> Sent with an urgent flag and a sharp bite to the back of Prowl's leg, of course.

Prowl

> Oh. Well, that made things simple. His panels snapped open.
> 
> «... For future reference, I appreciate receiving instruction.»

Soundwave

> Who knew that Prowl could make Soundwave's fans whir that loud just by speaking four words? Not him. And he might've gotten distracted thinking about them, too, if not for the fact that he'd just discovered something amazing: _Prowl's array was as red as his panels_ , minus all 564 loops of the cords Soundwave'd spent months dreaming of running through his fingers (and maybe one day into his ports as well).
> 
> It was a visual feast more than capable of making up for what he wouldn't be able to taste, and it pulled a thin whine from his engine. His free hand briefly fidgeted with the empty air near his visor while his need for secrecy fought greed and reverence for control of the situation.
> 
> The loss was swift and decisive. Soundwave pulled the mask off and, tucking it in his subspace, peered close. The only other valve he'd seen was different, puffy where this one was flat, bare instead of surrounded by wires, a node near the top. So many new things to explore and enjoy.
> 
> He latched onto the sides with his mandibles, trapping his mouth against Prowl's valve. (Or was it the other way around?) Sharp pincers gently test-plucked the wires ringing the entrance, sliding their tips into and down the gaps. They didn't come away wet. An obvious avatar limitation, but one Soundwave could easily - and happily - fix.
> 
> Optics shuttering with delight at the feeling of the static already crackling against his glossa, he lavished attention on the cords, lapping at them, swirling wet circles around the rim. One, he traced in a long, slow spiral, following it to the edge while his hand crept up Prowl's leg and to the angled biolight at his hip. He flicked his glossa and pressed _just_ inside to lick around the edge - then held it still, teasing, knowing Prowl couldn't push back against it.
> 
> (txt): Soundwave also appreciates instruction.

Tarantulas

> « _Instruction_ ,» Tarantulas repeated with a purr. «More than happy to accommodate. And – hm, what about _prohibition_? Does that fall under the same category?»
> 
> Definitely relevant, considering how restricted Prowl was at the moment – not only could he not push back against Soundwave’s face, but he couldn’t rock forward into Tarantulas’s paw, either. Said paw probably wasn’t _quite_ as enthralling as the tantalizing attentions of Soundwave’s tongue, but as soon as Prowl’s spike had extended Tarantulas had been sure to disattach his claws and drag them along sparking cords where they were definitely more desired.
> 
> As far as those holes in Prowl’s tongue – _neat_. Fantastic. Better yet, the pain didn’t seem to negate Prowl’s enjoyment, Tarantulas was delighted to note.
> 
> Whining slipped into muted moaning as Prowl dug his fingers in around Tarantulas’s panel. Should he open up? Whatever excuse he had of Prowl’s still being closed was gone now, so… Why the frag not. With a deliberate click, Tarantulas bared his array and prayed the buildup of lubricant wouldn’t spill too much on Soundwave’s couch.
> 
> …Which would hopefully solve _his_ side of the problem both he and Soundwave were running up against, notably. There wasn’t a drop of lubricant on Prowl’s spike to smooth along any furred touches, but _someone’s_ valve could surely make up for that. Nudging Prowl’s hand aside before he could get his fingers vaguely-opalescently wet, Tarantulas pawed himself for the briefest moment before circling his paw around Prowl’s spike. _There_ we go.

Prowl

> «Prohibition is absolutely und—»
> 
> That was as far as he got before Soundwave's mandibles latched onto Prowl's array. The comm cut off and he moaned needily into Tarantulas's mouth. His thighs trembled with the failed effort to push back against Soundwave's mouth, and in frustration he compensated by tightening his arm over Tarantulas's shoulder and biting at his tongues.
> 
> (But still he kept his finger around the rim of his valve, no deeper than Soundwave's tongue.)
> 
> There was entirely too much teasing going on here, and Prowl was running out of patience to perpetuate it. As soon as Tarantulas's paw was out of the way, Prowl slid a trembling hand over his valve, to trace a finger around the valve just long enough to make sure it was properly lubricated, and then carefully, slowly, to slide it into—
> 
> Oh. The nodes. Rotational kinetic energy. Prowl remembered these.
> 
> ... Scroll scroll scroll.

Tarantulas

> Hey, don’t bite at _Tarantulas_ ’s tongues just because Soundwave’s a tease. Not that Tarantulas was much complaining at the pain – it was a nice accent to the shaky touches around his valve, and the h – _hhhnng_.
> 
> Going straight for the scrolling nodes, was he. Tarantulas’s biolights had already been glowing with arousal, but each roll coaxed them into full luminescence pulsing in time with Prowl’s motions.

Soundwave

> At the click of another panel opening, the feeler that had been exploring Tarantulas' back slid up past his shoulder and curled over to get four eyefuls, dragging its claws across his neck cables as it passed. The sensors embedded in the tips didn't match Soundwave's optics' visual acuity, but that was fine. They could still see Tarantulas glowing away, adding to the delicate shimmer coating valve, paw, and hand.
> 
> (txt): Glittering lubricant expectation: pleasant sight. This, confirmed.
> 
> Soundwave blinked himself back to his sea of red paint and listened to the moan a second time, squirming like he'd vocalized it himself. Yes, he would consider that a request. His glossa slipped in at last, catching and stuttering over the gaps in the net of cords as it pushed forward.
> 
> ...He could swear the spaces were growing smaller the deeper he delved. Confused by the changing input, he pulled his glossa back, only to find that Prowl's valve had taken on a completely different texture in a matter of seconds. _Damned_ intriguing, and cause for immediate repeat, this time twisting to see if he could make the cords expand. Or draw out another noise. Or both.
> 
> His other feeler finally stirred again, rising to coil around his and Prowl's arms and traveling upward until it reached Soundwave's shoulder. There, it formed a neat loop and slithered behind his neck to slide down his front. Tendrils spread beneath his right side, feeding electricity to something hidden by his armor, and while he managed to suppress the words threatening to leave his vocalizer, he couldn't quite stop his mandibles fluttering and rattling against their prize.

Tarantulas

> How was Soundwave – _ah_ , the feeler. Tarantulas was always forgetting he had optics in those, right. So Soundwave had noticed the glitter, had he? Something in that thought made Tarantulas blush internally, more even than the thought of Soundwave having seen his array in the first place.
> 
> Thankfully Tarantulas was immediately tugged away again by Prowl, Prowl’s finger in his valve, Prowl’s moan, Prowl’s sharp bite, Prowl’s hand on his shoulder, Prowl’s knees still pressed into his legs. There were bits of Soundwave here and there too, the slight chill of the feeler around him and that telepathic presence pushing slightly at the edges of his awareness, but – that still made the experience at least 75% Prowl. _Good_.
> 
> Time to make sure he was giving back to Prowl. The slicked paw on the other’s spike was most certainly moving by now, his grip curled _just_ a tad tighter than the spiraled cords’ diameter.  But –
> 
> « _No squirming_. You might fall off, but really – how well can you _follow_ instructions?» A moment to drown himself in the sensations around him, then he added, «Soundwave – hyeh. Do your best to get him to slip up, hm?»

Prowl

> No squirming? With Soundwave's glossa stretching his valve and mandibles trembling against his array, and Tarantulas's paw wrapped tight around his spike, and Soundwave's feeler woven between his legs, and Tarantulas's mouth wrapped around Prowl's face? And now Tarantulas daring Soundwave to MAKE Prowl squirm?
> 
> He locked his knees and hip joints. His thighs trembled, but they didn't move.
> 
> « _Affirmative_.»

Soundwave

> Soundwave nearly missed the dare, caught up as he was in the alien feeling of Prowl's finger scrolling a node he didn't have in a valve he didn't have. It had to be enjoyable - he could sense pleasure in Tarantulas' thoughts, and he'd learned the basic functions - but translating the actual sensations into something relatable was trouble all its own.
> 
> As it turned out, splitting the friction signals to his frame, the static to his own array, and the rest to his mouth worked pretty well. (Possibly a little too well. Nearly bit his own glossa before remembering it wasn't Prowl's finger.)
> 
> ▓▒░ _Affirmative_. ░▒▓
> 
> Riding Tarantulas' mind reduced the need for physical contact anyway. He pulled back just enough to fold and tuck in the "cupholder" Prowl liked, shifting the nearby feeler into the empty space. Soft, flexible tendrils wriggled in alongside his glossa between long, curling thrusts, working their leads into the gaps of the wire netting until they ringed the inside.
> 
> The second feeler slid from Tarantulas' shoulder to the hollow beneath Prowl's Autobot symbol, clamping on tight and slipping into every seam it could find. Together, they fed Prowl's avatar (and Soundwave's glossa) extra static one burst at a time, the set in Prowl's valve writhing in randomized patterns while the other pulsed to a simpler, steadier rhythm.

Prowl

> Prowl could feel the feelers moving, but couldn't even tell that the tendrils were out—much less what they were doing—until that first _jolt_. He flinched in shocked pleasure, but didn't move otherwise. _No squirming_. But that wasn't going to stop his array's wires from buzzing with extra static, from the back of his valve all the way to the tip of his spike; nor was it going to keep him from whining contentedly into Tarantulas's mouth.

Tarantulas

> What a shame, that low sensitivity. All the more reason for Tarantulas to upgrade Prowl’s avatar for him, so he could _really_ feel those tendrils going to work on his array. But for now, Prowl’s two partners would have to settle for making him squirm in other ways. For Tarantulas, that meant keeping up with his smooth strokes on Prowl’s spike and the harsh attention he was lavishing on his mouth and glossa.
> 
> Ah, but Tarantulas _did_ have a free paw, didn’t he – it’d been hovering along Prowl’s side all this time, claws hooked into parted plating but nothing more. Why not put it to better use exploring bits of Prowl’s frame he wasn’t accustomed to? Paws and claws navigated searchingly up Prowl’s back where doors usually resided, testing sensitivity all the way up to the blasters on his shoulders before sinking into the joints there.
> 
> And go on, Soundwave, do feel free to hitch a ride on Tarantulas’s mind and sensornet. Currently he was occupied with that awful empty feeling of point-pleasure in his valve with only a single finger to clench down on, a sensation that had his spider limbs curling behind his back.
> 
> Well, he was _mostly_ occupied by the sensation. A random burst of curiosity had him mentally scrabbling at Soundwave, almost begging for a taste of what it was like to have his face pressed up against Prowl’s valve.

Prowl

> Had this been a real body, those joints would be a hot spot; as it was, though, all he really got was a faint tingle.
> 
> But a faint tingle was enough, because he was already getting stimulated in far more ways than he could replicate against his real body with just two hands. Head back against the berth, optics off, thighs aching with the effort of keeping his hips from bucking—he'd been told not to move, and he intended to obey, even where he wasn't being watched. (Wasn't being watched as far as he knew, at least.)
> 
> He had to be getting close. His timer had been wildly fluctuating over the course of the past several minutes, jumping from six minutes to two minutes and a few seconds later back to nine minutes—he'd never interfaced like this before, getting most of his stimulation from the tactile whispers across a holomatter avatar and the psychological knowledge of what those whispers of sensation meant. There were too many unknown variables for him to reliably calculate how his body was going to react.
> 
> But his timer finally settled. And he started comming it to both Tarantulas and Soundwave: «56... 55... 54... 53...» With an important addendum: «±32 seconds.»

Soundwave

> Careful only to borrow the one sensation from Tarantulas - he would wait to find out how Prowl's spike felt until he could use his _own_ hands - Soundwave worked on Prowl's valve like someone had set a bead of silver inside and told him he could have it if he could find it, leaving no wire untouched by glossa or tendril.
> 
> At Tarantulas' begging he tightened his grip on Prowl's hip and array, and had he been prone to noisiness he might have growled. Then he remembered he didn't have to move to share, and, shuttering his optics, flooded his accomplice with input from _every_ point of contact. _Take that_.
> 
> Numbers began rolling in over the comm moments later. He ignored them at first, thinking Prowl was counting strokes or licks or jolts; it seemed a Prowl-ish thing to do. Once the addendum came in, though, he realized it meant they only had about a minute left - with Tarantulas still relatively unattended.
> 
> Soundwave dropped the feeler from Prowl's chest to just above Prowl's hand and felt around for where he thought Tarantulas' spike might be, tapping gently with the claws and delivering tiny test zaps. There were five perfectly good tendrils willing to pay it some attention, but if Tarantulas didn't make his mind up fast...

Tarantulas

> Oh _Primus_. Tarantulas might have bitten off a little more than he could chew with that request – getting drowned in Soundwave’s sensory experience left him with a dizzying impression of feelers and tendrils and tongue and _everything_ Soundwave was touching of Prowl at the moment. As delicious as it was, as informative as it was, it was just – too much. For the moment, at least. Tarantulas might come back and dissect it later, if he dared.
> 
> Tarantulas grounded himself in his own body again _just_ in time to receive the countdown comm from Prowl, and – _ssscrap_. Those taps and zaps from Soundwave’s feeler on his spike’s secondary panel. Soundwave did know what he was getting himself into, right? Because, foolish decision or not, Tarantulas wasn’t hesitating to retract that panel and extend his spike right into Soundwave’s waiting tendrils.
> 
> But, back to Prowl’s countdown. What could Tarantulas do to nix that variable thirty-two seconds entirely? Prowl was doing a fantastic job obeying orders – unfortunately – despite his two partners tending to most every part of his frame except his forbidden hardlines.
> 
> Well, how about something hardline- _related_? Snatching up the first thing he could find off the top of his processor, Tarantulas tossed a data packet into the three-way fray – a little something from his cellular automata AI project, yet another equation designed to layer on top of the previous four. Hastily he tagged it as such, hoping Prowl would know what to do.

Soundwave

> Yes, he knew. Soundwave's tendrils skipped exploration to form a snug weave around Tarantulas' spike the second they felt it brushing them; he could process the visual data another time. For now, there was only the soft, twisting slide over layered ridges and the slightest of shocks to its base every time leads contacted metal - a quick and dirty tactic meant to hurry Tarantulas along.
> 
> Prowl had mentioned coordinating overloads, once. Soundwave knew he wouldn't be joining them this time, and nobody was playing Free Bird, but if he could hel--
> 
> Data-starved and expecting no other relief, Soundwave seized the packet and dragged it through a scan as fast as he could, feelers and fingers clutching tight, engine whirring louder than it had all night. Math and science. Incomplete. He'd never work it out in time - didn't have the right information or the speed - but it was _something_ , and a taste of pleasure was better than none at all.
> 
> (Not counting what he was getting from giving it, of course. Plenty of _that_ going around.)

Prowl

> It took a couple of seconds for Prowl to figure out what the formula was for—but when he did, his countdown dropped two dozen numbers, ±14. «Is this from the—the two artificial intelligences you were coding?» His hips bucked back, slightly but _needily_ against Soundwave's mouth—barely an inch, but enough to count as disobeying his order if Tarantulas wanted to count it. Never mind that. «Are they sentient yet? Have you introduced them to each other? How advanced are they?»
> 
> He fed the other formulas he already had back over the comm line, as he plugged the new one into place and the resulting function contorted and twisted into a new shape, forming neatly into something that was nearly alive. What a _rush_ , a mind-filling rush, running such a massive, complicated program (a program Tarantulas had written all by himself—brilliant, brilliant). The data poured back across the comm line, sharing the simulation with Soundwave and Tarantulas—of course Tarantulas had seen it already, but Prowl wanted Tarantulas to know he _got_ it.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas would let the movement of Prowl’s hips pass unmentioned this time – the satisfaction of simply knowing he’d tugged even that much of a response from him was thrilling. Besides, he had questions to answer, and new sensations to process.
> 
> A groan as Soundwave’s tendrils wove neatly around his spike. «Yes, nnn-no, yes, and –» Oh Primus, please keep shocking him like that, Tarantulas swore he could feel it loop through his pelvic array via his scroll nodes and out Prowl’s finger. «– s-sufficiently so, if you’re speaking in terms of _processing intelligence_ a-and not necessarily _ability to perceive subjectively_ – well, intelligent enough that I’ve given them control over a project of their o-oh _hhnnn_ –»
> 
> Ah, it was so hard to form coherent words even over comm. Body and limbs tensing up and shuddering on the couch, Tarantulas gave up for the moment, allowing Prowl to focus on the wash of data from the resulting simulation while _he_ tried to redirect the tingling of his own impending overload.

Soundwave

> _Artificial intelligences_? Tarantulas had been creating--!?
> 
> Prowl and Tarantulas' simulation roared through Soundwave's processors, pushing a hard shiver through his frame and promising so much more if he'd only take a closer look. He denied it, panting near noiselessly against Prowl's array, and puffed his armor out, in sudden need of twice as much air.
> 
> The biolight in Soundwave's hand cracked, spitting static and giving him the grounding he needed to remember Prowl's disobedience. Determined to keep the countdown moving but unwilling to make a fool of himself competing against data like _that_ , Soundwave yanked Prowl closer.
> 
> Damn the rules, anyway. Prowl had already broken them to ask for more, and Soundwave was only too willing to comply, glossa swirling and scraping over every inch of wiring.
> 
> A stray thought crept in, unheard by the others, and was swiftly discarded.
> 
> (...His fingers bit into Prowl's palm anyway.)

Prowl

> «They _control_ their _own_ project?» The timer dropped another five seconds. Tarantulas's projects were doing projects for him. Of all the fantastic, brilliant—thoroughly Tarantulas-y things—
> 
> Hand trembling, Prowl slid another finger in to Tarantulas's valve, scrolling harder. «I—I want to see th—»
> 
> Whatever else he had to say was lost in audial static. And then physical static; his white paint and his edges and joints losing their texture to white noise; the entire surface of his body buzzing with electric energy, crackling over to his partners.
> 
> (His timer was slow by eight seconds. He'd have to recalculate later.)

Tarantulas

> A smug laugh across the commlink, breathless though it was. «Yes they do. T-they -»
> 
> _Hnng_. Please, yes, another finger – Tarantulas needed more, perpetually more. But he barely had time to tilt his hips up before Prowl was overloading in his lap, charge spilling from one frame to another. Tarantulas only managed to stave it off his own overload for a few seconds more before it overwhelmed him in a searing surge of electricity.
> 
> Keeping himself from crying Prowl’s name over comms, Tarantulas arched sharply and moaned into Prowl’s mouth, his grip tightening involuntarily on Prowl’s back and spike. A few shudders later and he’d started to come down from peak voltage, but it’d take a while for him to _actually_ gather his wits after all that.

Soundwave

> Soundwave hadn't heard static that enticing for some time, and he'd felt even less of it. The crackling energy rolling up his glossa proved a dangerous temptation all by itself. The burst from Tarantulas nearly convinced him to give in and let go, to ride the rush of other mechs' overloads and then finish chasing his own.
> 
> And had it just been him and Prowl, he might've. But he needed safe data, safe contact, and a safe space, and he couldn't trust Tarantulas' involvement with those. Not yet. So he quietly withdrew from both mechs when the worst of their shivering and noncohesiveness had passed, shaking the numbness from his feelers and manually closing his mandibles.
> 
> He'd helped Prowl (and to a lesser extent, Tarantulas) find a bit of pleasure. It was no creation of artificial intelligence, to be sure, but for him, in this situation, it'd have to be enough.
> 
> Soundwave reached for his visor with a trembling hand and locked it in place, then sat back with his legs curled close. The evening's unscheduled opportunity for sharing vulnerabilities had passed. He was - or would be, as soon as he found the grounding strap in his subspace and finished applying it - ready to hide them and be patient again.

Prowl

> For the duration of his overload, even as his image is stuttering with static, Prowl kept kissing Tarantulas back. (And somewhere in reality, with his trembling hands between his legs and his fingers tangled in wires, his tongue silently tripped over two names.)
> 
> When the charge had dissipated and Prowl looked like himself again, his knees slipped off the couch and he slid strutlessly to the floor, to sit at Tarantulas's feet. "Hmm."

Tarantulas

> Alas, Tarantulas was too dazed in his afterglow to stop Prowl from sliding off his lap – the loss had him whining slightly, but he simply arched up and stretched, clearly not that put-off. Wiggling mandibles and chelicerae fit themselves neatly back together then, and after a moment he curled downward to give Prowl a smooch on the top of his helm.
> 
> “Hmm,” Tarantulas agreed, cupping Prowl’s face with both paws. Yes. Quite. That’d been… something. But – ah. Soundwave. Prowl and Tarantulas had definitely had a bit of fun, but what of their third party…?
> 
> A glance over Prowl’s helm revealed a retreated Soundwave with a – was that a grounding strap on his pede? Tarantulas gave another hum, a disappointed one this time. “Come now Soundwave, won’t you join us?”

Soundwave

> There, see. That slide was exactly what he'd been trying to prevent earlier. At least it'd been somewhat more graceful than the faceplanting thunk he'd imagined.
> 
> Soundwave shook his helm no.
> 
> [[He is satisfied with this for now. It has grown too late for more.]] He tucked the strapped pede behind his other one to hide it better. [[Thank you.]] For allowing him to join in, for sharing input, for the invitation just now - all of it.

Prowl

> Okay. Coordination. How to coordination. Prowl leaned on the couch for balance as he turned to look over his shoulder at Soundwave. Okay, now—grammar. How to grammar. "If you're sure? I wouldn't mind helping." Wouldn't mind learning what ways Soundwave liked to be helped, either.

Soundwave

> Soundwave curled a feeler around Prowl's ankle and tightened it in a reassuring embrace of sorts. He _absolutely_ would've taken Prowl up on that if they'd been alone, but...
> 
> (txt): Soundwave: certain. Prowl helps another time, will learn much. That, promised.
> 
> The feeler slipped back into its subspace pocket where it belonged.

Prowl

> He lowered a hand to stroke it over Soundwave's feeler, but didn't try to stop him from pulling it away. "Very well." Another time.

Tarantulas

> “Too _late_?” A humming laugh, with Tarantulas still eyeing Soundwave while he petted Prowl’s helm. “Excuses, excuses.”
> 
> Surreptitiously slipping a pede forward, Tarantulas briefly nudged at Soundwave, communicating a telepathic message. Underneath his amused disappointment, Tarantulas seemed almost… _miffed_. Yes, yes, he understood why Prowl was the only one receiving a later invitation, but that wouldn’t stop him from challenging the lack of an offer.

Soundwave

> The feeler stroke almost managed to change his mind, but only almost.
> 
> And yes, too late. They were up far later than he usually was at this point in his schedule. There'd still be work in the morning, and now he'd need recharge even more than usual. Which he probably wouldn't get much of, for Reasons.
> 
> Soundwave glanced over Prowl's shoulder, mildly surprised by Tarantulas' reaction. He'd thought this would be sufficient for the time being, considering it was about ten leaps past where they'd agreed it was wise to begin. Still, they _had_ intended to try something small between themselves. It would be unfair to erase that just because they'd found reason to be impatient.
> 
> Very well. He'd find time to experiment with Tarantulas soon too.
> 
> He withdrew his arm after passing that along and nodded.

Tarantulas

> That seemed to pacify Tarantulas for the moment, as he withdrew his pede without a fuss.
> 
> “A shame, but I’ll not press,” he purred. “Does – hm. I’m assuming you mean you require recharge. Do you intend to kick me out? Kick _us_ out? So soon…?”
> 
> Tarantulas hadn’t yet retracted his spike or replaced his panels, but now seemed the time to do so, since he was guessing the answer would unfortunately be yes. Hhhn. But he didn’t want to have to clean up the mess he _knew_ he’d made…

Prowl

> Prowl felt a flicker of disappointment as well—and immediately mentally chastised himself for it. Five years ago, HE would have been the one looking for an opportunity to skip out of post-coital cuddling. He didn't get to be disappointed.
> 
> He shifted around to lean back against the couch, facing Soundwave now. He made no move to re-cover himself; it was all going to disappear when he left, anyway. "We should do this again sometime. Preferably with more planning."

Soundwave

> Oh, he wanted the post-coital cuddling. He wanted it bad. It just wasn't possible at this point in time.
> 
> (txt): Soundwave agrees if Tarantulas shares assessment, both.
> 
> That more or less answered the question of whether or not he'd done enough on his side of things this time to keep the two of them happy despite lacking certain bits of equipment. Good.
> 
> (txt): Not kicking out. Kicking out implication: disliked presence, mechs, situation. Suggestion: Tarantulas, Prowl seek comfortable location, continue post-interface socialization, rest.
> 
> His optics wandered down to Prowl's uncovered array, then jolted back up to Prowl's face - not that anyone could tell. Visor.

Tarantulas

> “Oh, I certainly do,” Tarantulas agreed, his visor squinted into a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t mind planning, though it’s not _required_ for a good time, as we’ve just proven.”
> 
> A look down at Prowl – what did he think of Soundwave’s following proposal? “You’re always welcome back at the Tor.”

Prowl

> "Planning is required for a BETTER time."
> 
> He considered the proposal. Then shook his head. "I've probably had enough socialization for tonight." It wouldn't be the same without Soundwave there. "And I should recharge before my shift." Recharge again. Or attempt to, at least.

Tarantulas

> “It needn’t be socialization – you _could_ simply recharge with me.” Leaning forward, Tarantulas nuzzled the top of Prowl’s head. “…But you’ll likely dismiss the notion as frivolous, won’t you.”

Soundwave

> A better time? Primus. His processors might very well pop.
> 
> (txt): Understood. Prowl's work: intense, form: physical. Recharge: important.
> 
> He glanced to Tarantulas, just to make sure there wouldn't be another kick aimed his way as some sort of blame for Prowl's choice. Tarantulas _looked_ okay on the outside. Hopefully he felt that way on the inside as well.
> 
> (txt): Soundwave will clean area. That, not Prowl, Tarantulas concern. Go, rest.

Prowl

> He ~~leaned into~~ stoically endured the nuzzling. "I can only doze when I've got my avatar on. I think I need proper recharge right now."
> 
> He looked at Soundwave. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer help?" Does he sound disappointed? Probably not. But he IS disappointed. "I wouldn't mind."

Soundwave

> Small nod. And then, on a private line so Tarantulas wouldn't overhear:
> 
> (txt): Soundwave knows. Accepted when circumstances: less precarious.
> 
> He had an arm to patch. It'd been steadily oozing a thin blue trail from a series of tiny holes ever since Tarantulas' kick.

Tarantulas

> Sad sounds from Tarantulas, but he acquiesced. “Neither would I, but –” A dramatic sigh. “As you wish, both of you.”
> 
> Alright, time to scoot back a little and clean up the mess enough for him to comfortably close his panels. Whatever was ‘precarious’ about the situation, he was blissfully unaware of at the moment.

Prowl

> @Soundwave «Why? What's wrong with Tarantulas's mood? Is he upset?» And Prowl didn't even notice??

Soundwave

> @Prowl: (txt): Earlier. This, caution only. Prowl's worry: unnecessary. Recharge.

Prowl

> @Soundwave «Oh.» Don't worry him like that, sheesh.
> 
> In that case, with the crisis averted, he supposed he'd better leave. "Right." What should he say? He never knew what to say after threesomes. And he'd never had to throw blinking out of existence into the mix with it. "... I'll see you next time." Adequate? Yeah. Probably adequate.
> 
> He disappeared.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas was mildly startled by Prowl’s departure, but Prowl never really was too eloquent with these sorts of things, was he. Ah well. Probably for the best.
> 
> Suitably ready to leave, Tarantulas got up and stretched. “I’ll leave you to it, then, Soundwave. It’s been a _pleasure_.”
> 
> With a nod and a visor smile, he too was gone, albeit out the front door.

Soundwave

> Soundwave offered Tarantulas a bit of a bow as he left, then proceeded back to the couch to get scrubbing away traces of his fluids. ... And the floor. Every bit of liquid built up inside the avatar during his bout of oral had fallen to the ground when Prowl disappeared. Not unexpected, but still strange. And still messy.
> 
> He'd be sleeping nicely later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple illustrations can be found [here](http://78.media.tumblr.com/c77cf5955bab3a19e9068f35779a6830/tumblr_inline_otf6wr0Jms1urujbv_500.jpg) and [here](http://78.media.tumblr.com/0e1fed3e29cb0028b4de8cc283370f44/tumblr_inline_otem73CbwV1urujbv_500.jpg).


	56. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl scouts out Debris; everyone unhooks Springer; he's spirited away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:** two prefacing parts to this can be found [HERE](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/163552999469/operation-spirngo-part-two) and [HERE](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/163657597544/operation-springalingading-part-three). They mostly include hashing out the details of the plan (and are considered by Mau as not nnnnecessarily required for a full understanding of what's going on).
> 
> For full authenticity, listen to [this playlist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2QlplayAjM4&list=PLBcmT28doMTIr7J34d8mG6BudbR104kLd) to "recreate" the atmosphere.

Whirl

> Perhaps the first thing that Prowl will notice about Debris is how dark it is. The station is characterized by yawning, empty spaces with very few smaller, more tightly-constructed corridors.   
>    
>  Prowl will be bridged into the cargo bay. It's a very large room, but it's also packed, somewhat untidily, with crates, old weapons, and the occasional piece of junk. It had the advantage of providing plenty of cover while still giving Prowl a suitably broad vantage point upon entry.  
>    
>  «You should be in the cargo room,» Whirl said into their comm-link. «Easiest way to get to the living quarters from the bay is through the catwalks up top. It's dark up there, too. Let me know when you're up.»

Prowl

> The second Prowl's through the bridge he pings Tarantulas to turn it off, and then changes his avatar's colors to camouflage—projecting the colors of the surroundings instead of his own. And then—after a quick skim to ensure no Wreckers are nearby—backs into a corner created by a crate and a wall.  
>    
>  «You should be able to see when I'm up.» He sizes up just enough to see over the top of the crate, and do a more thorough scan of the room to ensure it's empty. All clear.
> 
> He looks around for some kind of access to the catwalk—Primus, what an array of toys the Wreckers have in here. Several cannons suspended from the ceiling are larger than Prowl's entire body even at normal size, and there was a pile of two dozen missiles that Prowl is fairly certain are still illegal in most star systems. He doesn't even want to know what they've got stored in the crates in the warehouse-like shelving around the cargo bay. It's a veritable treasure trove of dubious weaponry. It makes Prowl itch to arrest something.  
>    
>  He fights it off. There's the ladder, focus on that. He slowly, cautiously edges around the crates along the perimeter of the room (far more slowly and cautiously than is necessary), and watches over his shoulder as he climbs to make sure no one's come in.  
>    
>  «All right. I'm up.»

Tarantulas

> Prowl's up, and the bridge he came through is long gone. Now Tarantulas is back to pacing, but always keeping an optic or two on the screens back in Soundwave's control room.

Soundwave

> Soundwave hasn't moved from his spot. All of his attention is fixed on the screen in front of him and the numbers spilling across it. He won't be moving until something requiring it happens. Too focused.
> 
> «Okay. You're gonna stay up here, mostly, but you'll need to go to ground when we get near the barracks. Follow the catwalk along to the opposite wall, and the first hatch you'll see is the maintenance tunnel to the next room. Go through it.»  
>    
>  For the most part, he simply directed Prowl through various maintenance tunnels and stretches of catwalk to cross the larger spaces; Prowl would be getting a birds-eye view of the small portion of Debris he traveled through. The next open space he would cross would be the Wreckers' graveyard, and like the cargo room, the ceiling was swathed in shadow.   
>    
>  Whirl is mostly quiet, and just as focused as his companions. He does feel the barest sting of regret when they pass through the graveyard, though of course he says nothing.   
>    
>  «All right, time to get down. The door on the wall below you will take you to the barracks. Roadbuster's room is the one with the huge, diagonal gash on it. Can't miss it.»

Soundwave

> Huge, diagonal gash? Odd way of marking a door. He'll have to wait until Prowl sees it to find out what Whirl means, he supposes.

Prowl

> Once he's in the maintenance tunnel, Prowl moves less slowly, confident that he's unlikely to be spotted here. He switches to his human avatar—metal feet on metal floors make more noise than flesh on metal—and carries his projector and sedative in his shirt so that they're still hidden under his camouflage.  
>    
>  Most of the base, he only glances over cursorily as he passes. But he pauses, just a moment, in the graveyard. He knows about the room—he's read about it—even if he's never seen it before. He glances at the dais, searching the graves on it; and then down, skimming over the graves of all the other Wreckers. He moves on without his HUD giving any indication that he found what he was looking for.  
>    
>  «I see it.» He drops off the catwalk in a way that would break a human's legs human but that cushions the projector and sedative from jostling, and stands right back up. He pushes the button to open the door, then hops to the side so he can peek around the edge as it opens.
> 
> Coast is clear. He edges in and looks for the... uh... «Half the doors have huge gashes on them. Diagonal and otherwise.» He turns to look at one molten hole as he passes. «That's a gash so huge it's not even a door anymore. Where's...?»  
>    
>  Ah. Well, there were plenty of gashes, but that was the most prototypical huge diagonal gash on the hall. «... This one?»

Whirl

> Boy, this brings back memories. ...well, that's not surprising, as it's only been a few years since Whirl has been here, but still. He just stares at the screen as Prowl looks about. Doesn't look as if the Wreckers have expanded their ranks at all, which isn't surprising...  
>    
>  Prowl's asking a question. Back to the present. «Yep, that's his room. He _probably_ didn't lock it. Panel up to the right of the door'll get you in.»

Prowl

> Prowl examines the gash. There's a tiny hole in the middle, where it's deepest. «I don't think I'm doing that.» He kneels down to peer through the hole. «If I open the door, the sound could alert him. I've got a better way in.»

Whirl

> "He's not a light sleeper, but if you got a better way, go for it, mech," Whirl says.

Prowl

> He removes his cargo from his shirt, goes back to the door that's just a gaping hole to set his projector just inside it, and returns to Roadbuster's door. He slides the sedative into the small hole through the door.  
>    
>  For a moment, his HUD feed goes black as his avatar turns off. When it turns back on, he's inside the room. He pulls in the sedative, hides it in his shirt again, and looks around. Now. Where's Roadbuster?

Soundwave

> Oh, now that was an impressive idea. Soundwave was, for once in recent millennia, actually taking notes on Prowl's actions for future use. Quietly, of course. The others didn't need to know what he had until he was using it.

Tarantulas

> A start, as Tarantulas sees the human fingers enter the visual field. «You're - using a human avatar? W-why?»

Prowl

> «Squishy feet make less sound.»

Tarantulas

> He's fighting the urge to ask for its specs - Prowl has never shown it to him before, and right now he can literally only see that hand, with what looks like - scarring on it? What?
> 
> «You're _barefoot_? And there aren't any other organics you - well. I suppose this works, I'm just -»

Whirl

> Whirl looks away from the screen for the first time and clicks his claw at Tarantulas--the closest he can come to snapping his fingers. "Hey. Enough with the yakking. Focus."

Soundwave

> He finally moves, lifting his helm -just- a smidge at the sight of the scarring. Isn't that where--? So he kept it, then.  
>    
>  He can think about that later. They're busy.

Tarantulas

> Another start at the clicking, followed by a disgruntled hiss. «You can't multitask?»

Prowl

> Acknowledging ping. «Now isn't the time for multitasking.» He can answer questions about his avatar later.

Whirl

> Roadbuster is lying on his berth with his back to Prowl. Even in repose he's a veritable mountain of a mech, especially from Prowl's present perspective.   
>    
>  "Right," Whirl swivels his helm back to the screen. "I'd suggest the neck, but he's got a collar of armor that'd be tricky. Go for the back of the knee. Weak spot there."

Rumble

> //Frenzy says to make sure ya hit the fuel line. Ain't gonna do no good drippin' into his gears or somethin' instead.//

Tarantulas

> A snort/scoff from Tarantulas. Wouldn't that be obvious? Prowl wouldn't be that ignorant, would he?

Frenzy

> Does Frenzy know how much medical knowledge Prowl has? No. Has he seen mechs with little to no field medicine knowledge do some bizarre scrap with the supplies? Yes. They watched someone take a welder to a rubber line, once. It went about as well as you'd expect.

Prowl

> Prowl crept up next to the berth, shifting so he was only just tall enough to see the back of Roadbuster's knee over the top of the berth. «Where's the fuel line?» His HUD highlighs a likely-looking probably-cable. «Here?» It looks round and flexible, it's got to be either a fuel line or a line of wires to nervecircuits. Probably. He's guessing.

Whirl

> Whirl very slowly extends his neck and peers at the screen. "This one's for you, Frenzy."

Tarantulas

> «No, it's -» Sorely disappointing, that's what it is. «To your left, two lines up. The slightly thicker one.»

Prowl

> He highlights the new line. Questioning ping?

Tarantulas

> Affirming ping.

Soundwave

> Soundwave's arm ripples and puffs, but Frenzy doesn't pop off. The Boss won't let him. Even if he does want to sock the bug in all five thousand optics for beating him to the punch. -Especially- because that.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas has zero clue that Frenzy's miffed. Oops.

Prowl

> Right. He sets the sedative on Roadbuster's bed, and the HUD flickers again as he switches to his Cybertronian avatar. He doesn't know if it's any stronger than his human avatar, but it FEELS stronger, so he's going with it.  
>    
>  He increases to his regular size as he gingerly climbs onto the berth, picks up the sedative, and lines it up over the back of Roadbuster's knee—and leans all his weight on it, sinking it into the line.  
>    
>  His HUD immediately lights up with warnings, the visual equivalent of blaring red alarms—dozens of different images, ways Roadbuster's legs/arms/body/everything could move if he woke up and struck out at Prowl. superimposed over reality; warnings of potential danger in flashing exclamation points; a suddenly-appearing and quickly-growing list of actions to take in case of worst-case-scenarios—  
>    
>  Prowl hurriedly minimizes them all.  
>    
>  Roadbuster hasn't twitched.

Tarantulas

> Whoa whoa whoa. Tarantulas jumps at the flurry of alerts, but keeps himself from commenting this time.
> 
> (How does Prowl DO it. How does he not get incessantly distracted by his own damn systems? Tarantulas is amazed.)

Whirl

> For just a moment, Whirl's antenna twitches back, and his optic darts away from the screen. He knows what they're doing is necessary--well, probably necessary--but he can't shake that tiny spark of guilt that flares up, somewhere deep down.   
>    
>  He very quickly rallies, tamping everything back down where it belongs, and looks to Soundwave. "Okay. How long've we got, would you say?"

Prowl

> (How does Tarantulas know Prowl doesn't?)  
>    
>  Prowl scoots back on his knees, focusing on the fuel line, measuring all the millimeters he's off from the point he meant to hit. He's not retreating until he gets confirmation, direct or implied, that he did it right.

Soundwave

> [[It depends on how efficiently his systems burn through such materials. Best case scenario: three hours. Worst case: thirty minutes.]] Pause. [[That one would be Frenzy himself. He doubts Roadbuster can match it.]]
> 
> [[Still. We should move on as quickly as possible.]]
> 
> //If he ain't movin', he ain't gonna. Get outta there quick 'n get to Springer before somebody gets a bright idea 'n comes to talk to 'im.//

Whirl

> A brisk nod. "Right. Get back up on that catwalk, Prowl, and I'll lead you to Springer."

Soundwave

> //Oh, uh. 'N Frenzy says "Not bad."//

Prowl

> «Roadbuster is a lot bigger than Frenzy. That's got to count for something.»  
>    
>  "Not bad" was good enough for Prowl. He snatches up the empty sedative dispenser as he gets off the berth, stuffs it back in the door, disappears and reappears as a human, and scoops up the dispenser and the projector as he jogs past. Out of the barracks, he resizes long enough to grab and climb onto the catwalk. They're on a timer now; he's going to have to take a few more risks to move faster. «Lead the way.»

Whirl

> Prowl's trek through the catwalk is shorter this time, but using the maintenance tunnels instead of the floor-plan gives them a more direct route to the medical wing.   
>    
>  This area is a lot more compact than the ones they've gone through before. "Okay, from here on out, you're moving through hallways everyone else uses," Whirl warned.   
>    
>  There's only a scant few turns before Prowl comes to the door they're all looking for. There's nothing special about it. It's not marked in any way, except to indicate it's another hospital room. Whirl simply nods at the screen and says, "That's the one."  
>    
>  It's unlocked, and inside is Springer, right where Whirl left him. The room itself is rather dim, illuminated only by the various screens displaying his vitals.

Tarantulas

> The closer Prowl gets to Springer, the slower Tarantulas's pacing gets. The tension's starting to get to him a little. Springer - he's - he's so close...

  
Prowl

> He sends Whirl an acknowledging ping for the warning. But even when Prowl switches from catwalks to hallways, he barely slows down, only near-stopping at the corners to peek around the edges before continuing on.  
>    
>  The only time he stops—for just a moment—is when Whirl tells him this is the door. And then he walks up, pushes the button to open the door, and enters.  
>    
>  In all the time since Garrus-9—in all the time that Prowl spent going back and forth with the medics and Wreckers over Springer's care—Prowl never once visited Springer himself. Never had the time, what with... what with everything. Never had an excuse that sounded reasonable. This is the first time he's seen him.  
>    
>  He looks too neat. His body is too new. It's never been used. It almost looks fake, like a statue. They left his nose broken, though. Heh. Must've put it in his medical file...  
>    
>  ... He's not here to stare at Springer. His gaze jerks away, to one of his monitor screens. «Right. What—what's next?»

Soundwave

> This, above everything else, is what Soundwave has been waiting to see. He's been wanting to watch how long Prowl stares at Springer the first time he gets up close, to see if Springer really does mean nothing or if Prowl is hiding a creator's concern behind it all.  
>    
>  He keeps his conclusion to himself.  
>    
>  [[You need to hide our bridge. You must activate the false wall file he gave you to cover the initial sign of our approach.]] He nods to Whirl. Most, if not all of the descriptions have turned out to be accurate. [[He will take over from there. When he is ready, he will call the others through.]]

Whirl

> Whirl flicks his helm away for the screen and stares at Soundwave for a moment. He stares at him, inscrutable, for a moment before he nods and steps away from the screen.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is secretly thankful for Prowl's staring - that means he can stare too. Oh, Springer... This is the reason Tarantulas hasn't visited Springer since crossing into this universe - he just gets too damn emotional whenever he sees him. It takes a paw to his chest and a few quiet ventilations to get himself under control.  
>    
>  Why. This isn't even HIS Springer, HIS Ostaros. But maybe it's Tarantulas's failures back in his home universe that're making this all the more poignant.

Prowl

> «Got it.» He looks around for cameras; the ones he can see seem to be pointed toward Springer. Even so, he shuts the door behind him. No need to raise suspicions if someone walks by.  
>    
>  He walks to the back of the room, and projects the false wall where it will blend into the real wall. «Ready.»

Soundwave

> Soundwave waits a second or two to make sure it holds - it does - and turns on his heel, walking out of the room and toward a newly-opening bridge.  
>    
>  400 mile limitations get a little bit funny when walking through a rip in space and time. Nothing happens while he steps through the first half of the tunnel, but as soon as he crosses into the second half, everything in Springer's room disappears beneath an imitative bubble. It's not perfect - Buzzsaw could have done better if he'd seen the place in person instead of through pictures and descriptions - but it should hide them from any prying optics for a -short- while. Long enough for Soundwave to tap into the security systems, steal footage of the room before they entered, doctor it, and feed it back in as current input, at least.  
>    
>  Frenzy and Rumble quickly unfold and jump down to help him attach strange little devices to the monitoring equipment. Tarantulas and Whirl will be in here any moment, and they can't have anything screaming about a missing vital sign or detached cable - especially when nothing looks out of place to an outside observer.  
>    
>  It'll take them a couple of hurried minutes. Tarantulas and Whirl will get their pings as soon as they're done.

Prowl

> As soon as Soundwave passes through, Prowl drops the false wall and hurries to... well, hover uselessly behind him, he supposes. In case he's needed for anything. Doesn't look like he will be, though.  
>    
>  He sets down the projector and dispenser so he can switch back to his real avatar—hopefully for the last time—and slide them back into his holsters.

Whirl

> Whirl steps through as soon as he gets his signal and wordlessly gets to work, shuffling away from Tarantulas so they're not tripping all over each other.   
>    
>  He doesn't use his fine manipulators, because he doesn't need to, yet; he's surprisingly dexterous even with his claws--maybe even surprisingly so--and doesn't have any real trouble doing his part at this point.

Soundwave

> Ah, ah. No useless hovering right now. Prowl gets a feeler claw filled with more of the little cylinders Rumble and Frenzy are sticking on, as well as instructions to go help them out.
> 
> The less he's doing himself, the better he can focus on keeping the bubble up.

Tarantulas

> A moment's hesitation after the ping, but Tarantulas follows after Whirl with a nervous skip in his step.  
>    
>  Then it's off to work extracting Springer from all his machines. A few pieces of equipment get snatched out of Tarantulas's subspace here and there, one of which gets attached to Springer's chest directly over his spark.  
>    
>  (Tarantulas is so _close_ to him. Springer, he's - he's right there. And so peaceful, unlike the last time Tarantulas saw him... No, don't think about it. Don't.)

Prowl

> Prowl holds out his cupped hands to take the cylinders, watches Rumble and Frenzy a moment to make sure he understands how to attach them, and then quickly gets to work adding them to the machines.

Soundwave

> Soundwave nods to himself, pleased to see Tarantulas and Whirl both working on Springer instead of bickering with each other or expressing mistrust about what they're doing. He really didn't want to have to cover more than the bare minimum of audio as well. This is good.  
>    
>  He pings Chimera with the signal for the beginning of the next stage when there are only a few connections left. Another bridge soon opens, this time to the laboratory site mentioned during their last meeting.  
>    
>  (txt): Move ahead, inspect. All will follow when clear.

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas is too caught up in his own head to bicker with Whirl. He's keeping an optic on Whirl's work, but he hasn't seen any missteps yet, so they're all in the clear.  
>    
>  «Just a moment and we'll have Springer prepped to go as well - no reason to tarry.»

Whirl

> Whirl glances up, once, but remains uncharacteristically silent, and lowers his head to his work once more.

Prowl

> A nod, and Prowl heads through the bridge.  
>    
>  On the other side, as expected, is the Decepticon lab. Also as expected, it's dark. Nothing but the space bridge illuminates the room, but it's enough to confirm that the lab definitely isn't in use, and probably hasn't been for a while. He switches from camo to his regular paint job and turns on his headlights.  
>    
>  «All clear. There's a medical berth at 2 o'clock from the space bridge; carry Springer there and watch your step, there's some boxes near the berth's base.» He moves to the far side of the berth himself, to stay out of the others' way.

Tarantulas

> As soon as Tarantulas is assured Springer's disconnected and roughly stabilized, he steps back from Springer, transforms into spider mode, and sizes up a bit. «Ready when you are, Whirl.» And now he's sidling up to Springer's berth as close as he can get, crouching down on all eight legs for a smooth transition.

Whirl

> "Don't drop him, now." Whirl walks back and forth a moment, sizing Springer up. He starts with the torso, bracing one leg up against the side of the bed and scoots him carefully with his claws.   
>    
>  And then he scoots his lower half. Upper half. Lower half. Veeery careful.
> 
> And then, plop, you've got a Springer on your back.

Tarantulas

> «As IF.» The derision in his words is almost tangible.  
>    
>  And now Tarantulas is on his way, his steps silent, steady, and painstakingly-careful. He's not wasting any time being slow though - he's through the bridge and over to the berth in a matter of seconds, not minutes.

Whirl

> Whirl will hover at his side, watching closely and ready to intercede as he needs.

Soundwave

> Soundwave waits until they're both into the bridge to stretch his feelers out, brushing them against or wrapping them around every machine Prowl and the twins modified. Control of the bubble passes to Ravage and both birds while Soundwave busies himself with mimicking vital signs and making sure the new camera footage is ready to go.  
>    
>  Rumble and Frenzy hurry to collect all of the devices they put up at the start, shoving them into subspace and marking them off on their mental maps. Not a single one can be left behind.  
>    
>  (They were going to, originally. Maybe with some form of self-destruct function to cover his tracks. But good medical equipment is rare enough as it is, and Primus knows the Wreckers won't stop until he's dead if they recover enough material to tie him to the scene.)
> 
> Rumble hisses a //Done!// and drags Frenzy off by the arm, urging him to hurry in case something goes wrong.  
>    
>  Soundwave counts to ten to give them time, snaps his feelers loose and back into his chest with the speed of a tape measure, and - transforming - shoots through the bridge.  
>    
>  Machines beep and warble and screech in a medical panic. None of them are there to hear it, and none of them will be there when the Wreckers arrive.

Tarantulas

> No, this crew will be preoccupied with their very own Wrecker, one who's getting swiftly (but still carefully) transferred onto the medical berth Prowl had directed them to. Good. Perfect. This'd work just fine for the moment.

Prowl

> Prowl almost steps forward to help transfer Springer over—but then steps back again, just staying out of their way. He serves them best as a light for their work.

Whirl

> Whirl will help wrestle Springer into place and get him settled. "Well. So far we've somehow managed to avoid a COMPLETE fiasco." He looks up between his co-conspirators. "Let's see how long we can keep this up."

Prowl

> There's Springer secured. Prowl looks over at the bridge as Soundwave passes through; laserfire doesn't follow him as the bridge closes, so everything must have gone well.  
>    
>  "So we have. That's phase one completed." He looks down at Springer. "On to phase two."


	57. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas repairs Springer's zero point.

Prowl

> “I’m going to find a light source.” He headed for a wall, and then searched around the perimeter for a switch, as he did so illuminating swathes of the lab in his headlights. The lab was obviously long past its heyday—it seemed to be mostly used for storage now, crates piled up on and under the tables, many of them marked with hazardous material warnings—but it was clear that even when it had been in use, it probably hadn’t been the pride of the Decepticons’ R&D department. Over a dozen workstations, most of them with radically different equipment nearby, were crammed into a room that could more comfortably have held eight. But the station they were working at now—the prototype for the Phase Sixer project—had, at one point, been given a place of pride; most of the other tables were scooted away from it, giving more room to the project it had been working on, and the empty tank near the medical berth was the largest thing in the room.
> 
> Prowl found a switch near a set of double doors, and flipped it on. A knee-height generator in the far corner of the room began humming, lights on top of it glowed a sickly green, and in a few seconds fluorescent lights flickered on. Two similar-looking generators were shoved underneath the tank, so at least they’d be able to get adequate power to it without having to disrupt the base’s electrical supply.

Whirl

> Whirl stalks through carefully, swiveling his helm about in a sweeping, exaggerated arc. He remains tensely silent for a moment, just as calm and still as he’s been since the mission began, before softly muttering, “What a dump.”
> 
> Whirl steps aside to let the others enter. He continues peering about, and after a moment, he pauses, making a soft huffing noise with his vents. “Hey, Ravage? Can I get your take on this? Someone’s been here recently, I think.”
> 
> He looks back towards the bridge. “I can smell ‘em.”

Soundwave

> Soundwave drops out of alt mode from just high enough to make the smallest thump possible and deploys Ravage.
> 
> The big cat sneers at the room - who’s been maintaining this mess? - and prowls around a little, the small plates along his nose bunching up and wrinkling. His tail flicks a couple of times, and then he squints at a corner of the room. There’s nobody there, though. It’s probably safe enough.
> 
> =Yes. Older scent.= Huff. He sits on his haunches and looks up at Whirl. =I don’t know them.=

Prowl

> “That would be the Constructicons’ friend,” Prowl says. “They talked somebody into checking out this lab and making sure the equipment was still there. Other than that, they report that nobody else has been in this lab, and I quote, 'for forever.’”

Tarantulas

> After shifting back out of Springer-carrying mode, Tarantulas remains unusually quiet, busying himself setting up on and around the berth where Springer now laid. The mess all around doesn’t seem to bother him - if anything, it makes him feel more at home. The boxes scattered around the berth serve as perfect organizing surfaces for the surgical tools and equipment Tarantulas is pulling from both his subspace and through a small bridge back to the Tor.
> 
> “Just so long as no one is ACTUALLY here,” he mutters.

Prowl

> With the lights back on, Prowl drifts back toward the berth. He grimaces at the tools stacked on the various boxes. “That doesn’t look sufficiently sterile.”

Whirl

> After getting confirmation from Ravage, Whirl huffs softly, one last time. “Yeah. That’d explain it,” he says. After this, Whirl falls largely silent. He isn’t going to interrupt the surgical proceedings unless something happens, but he is going to be watching Tarantulas like a hawk.

Tarantulas

> Scoffing, Tarantulas double-taps the top of a box, and the surface seems to ripple. “I’ve laid holo-mats,” he explains. “I’m honestly offended you think I’m that slapdash, especially _now_ of all times.”

Soundwave

> Already deployed as of the last space they were in, Frenzy wrests himself free of his brother’s grip and trots over to examine the surgical equipment. This is some kinda learning opportunity, as well as the chance to see some cool alternate-world guts, and he’s gonna take 'em both.
> 
> Rumble stands over by Prowl, while Ravage moves over to Whirl and resettles himself, still sniffing the air from time to time.

Prowl

> Prowl nods. Good enough for him. He settles back against a table to watch.
> 
> … Not good enough. “How can I help?”

Tarantulas

> Alright, all settled. Tarantulas steps back for a moment to survey everything, to get one last glimpse of Springer lying strangely serenely there on the berth still with the temporary life support module on his chest - before he begins.
> 
> “Mostly by staying right where you are,” Tarantulas says offhand. “The zero point should be easy enough to resolve once I find it.” He’s picking up sensors and bits from the kit he made, placing them strategically, starting to remove plating here and there to get at underlying parts of Springer’s frame.

Prowl

> Prowl hesitantly nods. He crosses his arms, puts on his most neutral face, and settles back to wait.

Whirl

> Whirl is going to stretch up to his full height and crane his neck so he can watch, but he’s not going to move from his spot. He’s just going to stare, intense and unblinking.

Tarantulas

> Unfortunately for the rest of the crew, there isn’t really much to monitor or watch, no screens on which Springer’s vitals are displayed - only some beeping from smaller pads arrayed on a box right next to Tarantulas. The only sounds otherwise are from the surgery itself, klunks and scrapes of plating, and the buzz of equipment as Tarantulas runs spark energy through Springer’s chassis one trial at a time.
> 
> It isn’t long before he’s worked his way up to focus on Springer’s chest, then shoulders, then neck, then solely his helm. There’s some muttering about how that would make sense - of course the zero point’s in Springer’s helm somewhere. “One of the only things they _didn’t_ replace on his frame. And no one thought to - well. I’m sure they did. But given - hm. If…”

Soundwave

> Soundwave isn’t paying much attention to the surgery itself; Frenzy can deliver him a recording later AND have it annotated to the best of his ability. Instead, he’s busy poking and prodding at the different machines laid out around the room, searching for something that will help him get into the building’s security with a minimum of work. Laserbeak’s at the door, listening carefully for sounds of approaching Decepticons. It keeps her from complaining about rescuing an Autobot.

Prowl

> Prowl is still all crossed arms and careful neutrality; but he’s leaned forward to watch as Tarantulas progressed. Of course, of COURSE it’s in his head. The only part of him that hadn’t been completely replaced. They hadn’t even fixed his nose, had they; nothing else would have been changed.

Tarantulas

> Carefully Tarantulas begins taking apart Springer’s helm, small pieces of kibble at a time, until he’s fairly certain where the zero point is. A little tricky - it’s very close to the brain module, but nothing that frightens Tarantulas. He’ll be able to handle this.
> 
> There’s a moment when he almost pauses, suddenly emotional as underlying bits of Springer’s helm start looking much more like Ostaros - but he keeps on.
> 
> “…I’ve got it.” Not triumphant, just matter-of-fact.

Soundwave

> Frenzy leans forward, determined to see for himself what a zero point looks like.
> 
> …He kinda thought it would be something really big. Huh.

Whirl

> “Where was it?”

Prowl

> Prowl craned his neck slightly, but didn’t get any closer. It probably wasn’t going to be visible to the naked optic, he was sure; and there was no practical reason for Prowl to know that would justify crowding Tarantulas while he was trying to work.

Tarantulas

> Honestly there’s really nothing to even SEE. It’s a microscopic gap in spark circulation, after all.
> 
> “Directly inferior to his left lateral subprocessor. Not interfering with processing itself, mind you.”

Soundwave

> That’s why Frenzy’s surprised.

Tarantulas

> The kit pieces are discarded now in favor of finer tools, one of which seems to be something akin to a soldering iron. Tarantulas leans in close, and…
> 
> It’s mere seconds before he’s done, stepping back again to check Springer’s vitals on the mini console. A quick scan, a pause, another quick scan, and a pleased chitter of mandibles. “Well! One surgery, successfully completed. All I’ve left to do is reassemble, and - yes. Yesyesyes.”

Soundwave

> \WHAT’D YOU DO?\
> 
> It’s said as quietly as he can manage, which is a hair above indoor voice.

Whirl

> He only moves slightly, stepping around the perimeter of the scene to get a better view and a fresh angle.

Tarantulas

> “Bridged the gap, of course. You DO know what a zero point is, don’t you?”
> 
> Tarantulas already has Springer’s helm back together, all bits of Ostaros disappeared again. Springer himself hasn’t stirred.

Prowl

> (Somewhere back in reality, Prowl sighs in relief.) “He's—fixed, then? You’re sure? There’s some difference you can measure now?”

Soundwave

> Frenzy shakes his head yes. Then no. Then shrugs? What he knows is literally what he just saw and a bland everyman’s explanation picked up from earlier discussions.

Tarantulas

> “Yes, most definitely. Spark energy circulation is reestablished instantaneously as soon as the zero point’s negated, and - of course I can measure that.” He’s consistently baffled by the things other people don’t know, goodness.

Prowl

> It isn’t that he doesn’t know; he just needs to hear the conformation. He nods. That’s good enough for him. “… I expect to see a paper on your new repair process sometime soon.”

Soundwave

> Frenzy rolls his optics. Are they seriously getting mushy during a surgery and mission? Some romantic bots, Primus.

Tarantulas

> A few tools get tossed back into subspace, clearing up a box, and the life support module is gone from Springer’s chest as well.
> 
> “Sometime, hyeh.”
> 
>  “And yes, before anyone asks, he’s not going to wake up yet, he’s still in induced stasis.”

Prowl

> Hey. Prowl is all business. He’s talking about a paper that could potentially save countless future zero point victims.
> 
> The fact that this is also about as close as Prowl can get to giving a compliment to someone’s face is irrelevant.


	58. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ununtrium plating process begins; the situation deteriorates.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t catch that the comment might have been meant that way - he’s already moving on to the spark augmentation process. Apparently this means opening another small bridge and dragging a box-sized piece of equipment through, before starting in on taking Springer’s ten-Matrix chest apart, one piece of armor at a time.  
>    
>  Part of Tarantulas wants to start humming to help fill the quiet, but knowing how Prowl had responded last time he’d done that – no, he’ll just keep silent for the most part.  
>    
>  “…Feel free to ask questions if you like. On anything, really. An active mind helps keep my paws steady, believe it or not.”

Prowl

> Oh, good, because he's been dying to. "What are you doing now?"

Whirl

> "Nah. I remember most of this," Whirl says, referring, of course, for their last, probably annoyingly-long phone call.

Soundwave

> //Frenzy don't wanna talk on account of yellin', but he says d'you want help movin' 'n orderin' the pieces so ya don't lose 'em or get mixed up?//
> 
> //Y'know, for makin' room.//

Prowl

> "Yes. Right." That was a far more important question. "What can I—we do? To help prepare."

Tarantulas

> A surprised laugh from Tarantulas. "Well, I suppose you could keep track of them, that's not a terrible idea. Moving isn't so much of a difficulty though." As evidenced by the wiggle of spidery limbs at work. "In general though - no, no, I don't need any help. I've done this a million times - well. Not quite, but plenty enough."  
>    
>  Alright, most of the relevant pieces of Springer's chest are off now - his spark chamber lies fairly exposed.  
>    
>  "As for what I'm doing? Hyeh. Next comes the spark augmentation, of course."

Prowl

> "Spark augmentation?" During most of the time Prowl SHOULD have been finding out about the procedure Tarantulas was going to perform, he'd mostly been... not. Just passing on the data the Constructicons had foraged from the Decepticons and waiting for news from his three co-conspirators. So most of the details were new to him.

Tarantulas

> A huff from Tarantulas as he works, now turning to adjust settings on dials and switches on the equipment's console. "You haven't been paying any attention, have you. I gave you the files to give to Hook, I'd've thought - hmph." Tarantulas turns back to Springer, beginning to work his spark chamber open. "In any case - yes, I'm adding energies to his spark so he'll be able to withstand the process of the ununtrium binding to his frame. It's a procedure I came up with on my own to facilitate my and the other Chimeracons' mass shifting capabilities."

Soundwave

> Soundwave was about to glance over and see what was going on when he heard the words "spark augmentation". He'd just keep his optics on his work, then, wouldn't he?  
>    
>  Frenzy obediently set about arranging and making visual records of the order in which the pieces that were coming off got placed down. Remedy and Ratchet hadn't taught him anything like THIS before.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas waits for someone to say something, anything else - but no. Well, it's probably more fitting for such a momentous occasion to pass reverently instead of chattily.
> 
> Springer's spark chamber spirals open, and a bright blue glow emanates from his chest. Likely that's the most any of them will see of his spark, aside from Tarantulas, of course.
> 
> A cable, a few mysterious and clearly hand-made tools, and some more tweaked settings, and Tarantulas is carefully at work teasing the energies of Springer's spark apart. Then comes the actual infusion of spark energy, inputted from another cable and ever-so-slowly assimilated into the preexisting body. Aside from a few flickers and a brief surge of light, nothing dramatic seems to be happening, despite the fact that Springer's very life could technically be on the line here.
> 
> Don't mind if Tarantulas is a little protective and curling over Springer's prone frame. It's honestly nothing to be suspicious about - mostly just a bid for privacy.

Prowl

> Nope—no further commentary. (And despite Tarantulas's claim, Prowl STILL on some level feared that talking would be a distraction.) He just waited, expression neutral—but optics keenly tracking Tarantulas's tools.

Whirl

> Whirl remains just as quiet as Prowl, mentally ticking off the details he remembers as Tarantulas goes through the steps. For a moment, he pauses, a flash of memory flickering through his mind when he sees Springer's spark chamber spiraling open--but it's just a moment. He blinks, and returns to the present.

Soundwave

> Soundwave's still focused on the group of Decepticons walking down a hall roughly near the middle of the compound. They keep getting closer. He doesn't think they're going to come all the way to the laboratory, but he'd really prefer it if they - oh, there they go. Good. Take that corner. Stay away. Much better.

Tarantulas

> For a few long moments Tarantulas looks intently back and forth between Springer and the console - he's making sure the new, clean energies are properly accepted and stabilizing. Two knobs are fine-tuned as if foci on a microscope, until finally Tarantulas lets go, sets down his tools, and begins to close up Springer's spark chamber once again.
> 
> "Hyeh. Spark augmentation completed. One of the smoothest procedures I've had the honor of performing - but of course, this is _Springer_ after all." The most perfect scion, naturally.

Prowl

> Of course. Tarantulas HAD built Springer, after all. He'd be easier to work on.  
>    
>  Prowl shifted slightly. "Then that's it? Everything that's needed to protect him?" It looked so simple when Tarantulas did it.

Tarantulas

> "Yes, it should be quite sufficient. That is, there are other safeties built into the process - but this is the only _surgery_ necessary."  
>    
>  A minute later Springer's spark chamber is completely sealed, although Tarantulas isn't putting any of his armor back on. In fact, he's left Springer's side completely, checking everything over in and around the ununtrium chamber and its generators. A few adjustments here and there and a jury-rigged device attached to one of the generators, and Tarantulas finally returns to Springer's side, proceeding to remove even MORE torso armor.

Whirl

> Whirl knows that they're going to have to strip him down almost to an endoskeleton to do this, but it's still kind of off-putting to watch.   
>    
>  All the better to get it done quickly. "Need help?"

Tarantulas

> Then comes a quick check with Tarantulas's infamous medical scanner to make sure Springer's doing well - yep, all good. The spidery mech gives a pleased hum.  
>    
>  "If you could help remove his limbs once I've disattached them, that'd smooth things along nicely." From the looks of it, Tarantulas is already halfway done with one shoulder joint.

Soundwave

> Frenzy jumps up and down waving his hands. Oh, him! Him! Let him help remove armor!

Prowl

> As Prowl watched Springer come apart piece by piece, the first phrase that crossed his mind was "full autopsy." Even though he KNEW Springer was alive, it was still eerie. He'd watched this same process done on corpses hundreds of times. He could come over and help detach the arms and legs himself, he'd seen it often enough, he knew how it was done.  
>    
>  Better not, though. Leave it to ones with actual medical training—not the person who'd only watched over medical examiners' shoulders.

Whirl

> Frenzy's movement startles Whirl briefly, but he gives a brief, amused snort as he crosses over to where Tarantulas is standing. As soon as the limb is ready, Whirl gets to work, extruding his fine manipulators.   
>    
>  They skitter horridly all over the smaller components as he works the arm away. If Tarantulas sends Frenzy his way, he'll happily divide up the work.

Tarantulas

> A chuckle at Frenzy. "Feel free to assist Whirl, but no slacking on your organizational duties, mind you."

Soundwave

> Rapid head shake no. Of course not! He does this part a lot. He's GOOD at taking things apart. It's the putting together he's not as skilled at.
> 
> So he scoots over to help Whirl, offering the use of tiny fingers, small drills, and other tools as needed. He's got a kit and all.

Tarantulas

> Wh - wait, hold on. Whirl has - ?   
>    
>  "I wasn't aware you had smaller - digits? What do you call these?"

Whirl

> "Damn, mech. You're prepared." This is probably the first time that Whirl has seen just how serious Frenzy is about this medical interest. He takes note.   
>    
>  And also makes sure not to accidentally touch him with his creepy not-fingers.   
>    
>  Tarantulas's question catches him off-guard. "Hmm? Oh." He looks down at them. There is a moment of silence. "Fine manipulators, I guess. Good for mechanical work."

Prowl

> (Again, the temptation to offer to help; but no, now there are three people, a fourth would just get in the way. He crosses his arms tighter.)

Tarantulas

> "Fine manipulators," Tarantulas repeats. "I see." He's obviously still very curious, but he won't push the subject. That'll be for another time.  
>    
>  All the while, he's still intent on dismembering his adopted scion. There goes the other arm, and now a leg. He'll get to Springer's back kibble soon enough.

Soundwave

> Rumble nudges Prowl's foot with his own foot and looks up, curious. He okay up there?

Prowl

> Prowl glances down. "Hm?"

Soundwave

> @Prowl: //Sure ya wanna watch that scrap? I mean, y'ain't bored?//

Prowl

> "No, I'm not." Why would he be BORED? "I don't have anything else to do, anyway."

Soundwave

> He's talking to Rumble. If the twins aren't actively doing something within their line of interest, they get antsy. Chopping people up and sticking them back together again may be all well and good for Frenzy and Buzzsaw, but Rumble's only about that when it comes time to fight. And then only the first half.  
>    
>  //We could see if there's anythin' worth takin' in all them boxes.//
> 
> //Stuff we got is stuff they can't use if they wanna come fightin' on Cybertron, right?//

Tarantulas

> Springer's just a limbless torso now, with his endoskeleton showing through in so many places. Suddenly Tarantulas’s spark lurches in his chest - there’s so much Ostaros. So much of the basic protometal he’d molded to make his original frame. Well, it wasn’t _him_ , but it might as well have been. He _feels_ like it was, and that’s what matters right now. (Ostaros. Primus, it’s his precious Ostaros…)
> 
> …He tries not to think about it too hard as he rolls Springer over and gets at his back and side armor. They have a job to do.  
>    
>  "Whirl - once you're done moving that, could you help me carry Springer into the chamber?"

Prowl

> Prowl looked around at the boxes. On the one hand, that was theft. On the other hand, it was theft from Decepticons, so, y'know, greater good. On the other other hand, that might leave evidence that people had been here. On the other other other hand, who knew what treasures could be hidden in the same lab that birthed the Phase Sixer project?
> 
> "... There might be highly dangerous materials in these crates," Prowl finally said. "It would be irresponsible of us to leave them in Decepticon servos."

Soundwave

> Rumble's visor brightened. So did his face, a huge grin spreading across it.  
>    
>  //That's what I'm talkin' about,// he said, snickering. Off to the crates!

Whirl

> Whirl just bobs his head into a nod and moves to assist, accordingly. He's not quite as bothered by the sight of his former leader's dismembered state; he's long grown used to seeing Springer injured or damaged.   
>    
>  The sight of him fully-formed and dead to the world had been more disturbing to Whirl than the most graphic of injuries.

Tarantulas

> And with that Tarantulas is sizing up so he can help heft Springer over to the chamber. In his preparations he'd assembled a rough stand on which to position Springer's torso.  
>    
>  Once he's settled there, Tarantulas sizes down again and takes another medical scan - and he's just leaving the thing on and even attaching it to the side of the chamber. Then it's off to the chamber's console, and Tarantulas commands it shut and sealed.

Prowl

> Prowl casts a long, lingering look over at Springer and his helpers—and almost changes his mind, to stay and watch—but no. Don't be useless. Contribute.  
>    
>  He follows Rumble over to a nearby bunch of crates, grabs one, makes sure it doesn't have any warnings on the side, and clicks it open.

Soundwave

> Rumble's already wrist deep in his own, sifting through stuff for anything that looks like it might be of value. Scrap, scrap, a badge, pack of out-of-style styluses, small gun - yoink - and some polishing rags, brushes, coupla tools... eh, he'll take what he can.
> 
> //We sure these ain't their dumpsters?//

Whirl

> Once Springer is settled, Whirl once again falls silent and steps back. He's still watching Tarantulas with that same unerring intensity. This is probably the longest amount of time that anyone in the room has seen Whirl remain calm and relatively quiet.

Prowl

> Prowl's box is full of a dozen soldering irons and piles upon piles of unsorted solder. Hook would kill for this box. He pushes it aside and opens another. "Probably for the things they don't use but don't want to get rid of."

Tarantulas

> That voice - oh! Prowl's gone? And Rumble too? Tarantulas looks over his shoulder for a moment, briefly confused, but eventually keeps moving onward, setting up the console and a few tanks off to the side.
> 
> If anyone looks closely, they'll notice Tarantulas isn't filling the tanks, but is attaching subspace pockets to them instead. Quicker and more efficient, of course - he'd prepared the ununtrium and modded propex in pockets ahead of time.

Soundwave

> With nothing more he's gonna have a use in doing right now, Frenzy joins (most of) the other deployers over by Soundwave, hopping from foot to foot with impatience. He wants to see the thing happennnnn.

Prowl

> (He straightens up to look, again, at Springer and Tarantulas; but then forces himself to look back down and open a third crate.)

Tarantulas

> Don't worry, the thing's about to happen, Frenzy. Just give Tarantulas a few more nervous seconds, anddd...

Whirl

> Whirl's helm thrusts forward and he takes a step towards Tarantulas. "What're those? What're you doing now?"  
>    
>  This is the first thing that Tarantulas has done that Whirl doesn't recognize. "What're those things?" He huffs briefly, seeing if they give off any kind of scent.

Tarantulas

> Primus, Whirl - right when the dramatic tension was about to practically snap...  
>    
>  “ _Subspace patches_. I've attached the ununtrium and propex directly this way."

Soundwave

> Portable bits of subspace? Now that's something Soundwave's going to inquire about. Later. When he's not making sure nobody's accessing the room's feeds.  
>    
>  Rumble sorts through another crate, finding even less of use this time than before. Why did Prowl get the cool box?

Prowl

> "Cool" is questionable. All he's found since the first crate is datapads so old the batteries have expired, and broken glassware.

Whirl

> Whirl looks them over one more time before he gives a slow nod. "So it'll be... faster? More targeted?" It's half a guess. That seems to make the most sense with the basic understanding Whirl has with the process.

Soundwave

> Okay, but datapads. That's Soundwave's lifeblood. That's a better find than - what is this stuff, even? Big old bolts, cables, a three-fingered hand, some kinda - it's sorta wiggly and twisty, but that's all he knows about it.
> 
> Ah, Pits. He'll take the hand and the wiggly thing. Ravage treats.

Prowl

> Not if they're dead. Probably lost all their data. Prowl opens a fourth crate and pretends he isn't listening closely to Whirl and Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> "Yes, yes, and better contained, given the transient state of matter they're in. Now, if I may -"  
>    
>  Damnit, Whirl’s interruption has Tarantulas hesitating - something feels just… not quite ready. But no, there’s no time for that. Springer’s unarmored torso is sitting there in the chamber waiting on them.  
>    
>  "Commencing ununtrium bonding."  
>    
>  And with the press of a tiny button, the liquid ununtrium is injected into the chamber. Within seconds it's cleaving to Springer's endoskeleton, forming a sort of shining second skin. There's no backing out of this now, no siree.

Prowl

> Whatever's in the fourth box is a mystery; all Prowl's attention is on Springer.

Soundwave

> Frenzy 'whispers' a \\\WICKED.\\\

Whirl

> Frenzy gets a slow nod in response from Whirl, who's watching the progress with a hint of fascination (in addition to the focused wariness he's displayed since he arrived here).

Soundwave

> \\\BOSS. BOSS, I GOTTA GET ME SOME.\\\

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas stands there trembling, counting the fourteen seconds ticking down on the console. Then comes the superheated propex to assist in the cleaving.

Prowl

> Prowl leaves behind the boxes and, gaze never once wavering from the chamber, walks closer, to watch from just behind Tarantulas.

Soundwave

> Rumble kicks his box, disgruntled, and heads to hang out with his brother.

Tarantulas

> And after that - the temperature rise. Rapidly the console indicates the temperature jumps up nearly 300 degrees and continues climbing from there.
> 
> Tarantulas watches the temperature, along with the readouts from the medical scanner still attached to the chamber. This - this is the part he's a little worried about. It's a judgment call of his own, where to stop - a range of temperatures he has to estimate from.  
>    
>  But before he can make the call, his medical scanner starts positively _yelling_ at him in beeps and doops. Springer's spark - it's spiraling out. It's - it's giving in to the shock, slowly at first, but Tarantulas knows what'll come next.   
>    
>  He's frozen in place, panic searing through his systems. Please, please, please not now - this CAN'T be happening -

Prowl

> Terror clenches Prowl's spark, and his optics blaze brighter. "What's wrong?"

Soundwave

> Tuned in as he is to conversations happening elsewhere in the compound, Soundwave's still not completely oblivious to the events around him. The sound of a medical scanner screaming warnings is one he has a hard time forgetting. Or ignoring.
> 
> He finally spins to look at Springer and the others. Exposed spark or no exposed spark, if everything they're doing is about to go down the drain--

Whirl

> Whirl says nothing. He just looks rapidly between Prowl and Tarantulas, waiting for the latter's answer.

Tarantulas

> Instantly Tarantulas lied: "N-nothing, it's -" As scrap. Ah slagging pits. "It's - his spark, i-it's -"  
>    
>  He just couldn't get it out, as if as soon as he said it it'd become permanent reality. But - he had to do something. Shut the chamber down, at the very least. He'd prepared for this - he just had to remember what to do. And focus very, very, VERY hard on steering them toward the slim chance that Springer would get out of this alive.  
>    
>  Tarantulas's paws were suddenly a flurry of activity on the chamber console, and even as the beeping kept on, the chamber started making noises of its own, immense crackles and whooshes as it cooled down just as quickly as it'd heated up before.  
>    
>  The worst part? They couldn't even see Springer anymore. The leftover superheated propex had instantly crystallized into a sparkling mist inside the chamber.

Whirl

> "Tarantulas--" It's both a question and a warning in a single word.

Prowl

> "WHAT'S wrong with his sp—?!" It takes a force of effort for Prowl to shut himself up. Shouting won't help. If Tarantulas is answering questions then he's not doing whatever he can do to stop whatever's gone wrong. But he can't stop himself from moving near the chamber, placing his hands on top, trying to see through. It's so cold. Is it supposed to be cold?

Soundwave

> Soundwave's fuel lines turn as icy as the chamber. It can't be Springer's spark. It CAN'T. If it were just another frame problem for Tarantulas to fix, or the brain module - he could try to rescue as much of Springer's mind as time would allow, if it were that. But there's nothing he can do for a spark. If Prowl's creation dies here, now...
> 
> Worse, if a potential defender against Unicron dies...

Tarantulas

> There's no time for more speculation. As soon as the chamber seems to be done chilling, a low whine starts up from one of the generators attached to it - then a loud fritzing of electricity lights up the room. A pop, and the whining rapidly turns into screeching, and then -
> 
> Tarantulas slams on the emergency escape button to open the front hatch of the chamber. He has to save Ostaros. He HAS to.

Prowl

> Prowl's head jerks over toward the generator—that thing must be ancient, volatile, if it's malfunctioning—then jerks a step back as the chamber open. He steps back in, he has to get Springer out of the way—  
>    
>  No. Springer's got ununtrium. Rescuing him leaves Tarantulas and Whirl by the generator. Removing Springer only saves one person, removing the generator saves three. Prowl steps back again, focusing on the generator.

Whirl

> The air is absolutely thrumming with volatile energy. Whirl isn't analyzing the situation with the same razor-keen precision that Prowl is; he's barely thinking at all, running on instinct, and every instinct in him is screeching "impending disaster." The generator's whine climbs to an ominous octave.   
>    
>  The hatch slides open, and almost instantly the loose propex inside catches aflame, washing them with a brief wave of heat; in the same moment Whirl springs forward, hooking his claws into whichever parts of Springer's frame his claws can grab and hauling backwards.   
>    
>  Whirl hunches over the body as he hauls again, putting as much of himself around Springer in the last second before the generator goes.

Prowl

> And while Whirl is retrieving Springer, Prowl is diving for the generator. With a hard tug he jerks out the ununtrium chamber's plug, and ignores his hands buzzing and distorting from cast-off electricity as he awkwardly lifts the heavy generator. In a quarter-second he's calculated a route to the corner farthest from the group that takes him past the least number of crates with visible explosive, flammable, or combustible warning labels, and runs.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas isn't nearly as fast as either of them, but he's launching himself in Springer's direction as soon as he can manage. Lucky for him, he misses the flames from the propex, but that means he barely reaches Whirl and Springer in time to try and drag them (well, Springer mostly) out to safety.

Soundwave

> Ravage and Laserbeak abandon their post at the room's door and bolt for the safety of their carrier's presence, crowding in with Buzzsaw and the twins. Soundwave immediately tears himself away from his machines in response to the sight and sound of flames and crackling electricity, protective instincts kicking in hard.  
>    
>  One feeler lashes out to slap the generator away while the other snatches Prowl by the middle and whips him into Soundwave's group. Whirl and Tarantulas... are guarding Springer and will have to survive on their own. Springer's more important than either of them, and Soundwave doesn't have the time left to do more than hunch forward and shield his chosen mechs with arms and back.

Prowl

> Prowl's in-process calculations abort and for a moment he's lost. But once he's figured out what's going on—there's nothing more he can do more now but curl up to protect himself.  
>    
>  (He's forgotten he's a hologram.)

Soundwave

> That's all right. So did he.

Tarantulas

> And then -   
>    
>  \- the generator goes.  
>    
>  The explosion isn't as large as Tarantulas had expected, but it's still fairly devastating, blasting through the lab and singeing some of the setae right off his exoskeleton. Thank you, Prowl, for relocating the generator - though Tarantulas doesn't know you did that just yet.

Whirl

> Whirl braces himself, but it's far as explosions go, it's not nearly the worst he's been near. He shakes his head, straightens, and takes only a moment to take in the room, before he starts dragging again. If he's suffered any injuries, he's ignoring them for now.   
>    
>  "Tarantulas! What was happening? What's wrong with him?"

Prowl

> The second the explosion has settled, Prowl's shoving his way out of Soundwave's arms. "Where's—Springer? Tarantulas? How's Springer?"

Soundwave

> Soundwave's everything hurts. A large portion of his sensors were turned toward the blast and his hearing is, temporarily, less than fully functional. He doesn't fight Prowl pushing free (though he takes note of it happening). He just quietly checks on his deployers one by one, making sure they're all right.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is on his paws and knees over Springer, silently having a spark-deep freak-out moment. His medical scanner - gone, certainly. Springer is frigid, literally untouched by the blast, thanks to his ununtrium layer (thank PRIMUS at least one thing worked). But his spark - his spark. It had to be a whisper of its full capacity now, and going fast.

Whirl

> Whirl half-straightens again. "Tarantulas?" he tries again. "Hey!"  
>    
>  After receiving no response, Whirl draws back and then slaps him, hard, fast, and vicious, with the curve of his claw. "Tarantulas! Snap out of-- _what's wrong with his spark_?"

Soundwave

> Ravage's rubbing his nose on the ground to clear it from the stink of various materials burning. Frenzy can't hear anything and is yelling even louder to compensate. Laserbeak has docked and won't leave his back. This is a mess. Springer better be alive over there.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas cringes hard at the slap, but it certainly does the trick, pulling him back into the moment. Whirl - Whirl's asking what's wrong. You know what's wrong. Just tell them. Nothing can be worse than what's already happening, anyway.  
>    
>  A desperate hiss. “H-his spark - it wasn’t enough - it’s shrinking, losing - losing structure, it's - I did _everything_ I - I -”

Prowl

> “Then—Is he—he’s going to—?” No. No. Not after all this. Calculations are running again; he’s thinking of every doctor and medic he knows, calculating who might both be able to get here in time and be able to make a difference—Ratchet 2%, Hook 37%, Tachy 9%, First Aid 4%, Flatline 21%, Fixit 28%—something, something, anything that can help him—

Whirl

> “Shrinking...” Whirl looks away for a second, speaking softly, almost to himself.   
>    
>  “He’s fading.”
> 
> His attention snaps back to Tarantulas, optic flickering, his words coming out in a tumbling rush. “Jump him. We’ve got to jump him, with a strong spark. I could—dammit, no, no, he’s probably not V-Positive—you had his medical files, right? Do you know his spark type? We’ll need—you guys!” He stands fully and looks to the rest of the room at last. “We need some cables!”

Soundwave

> \\\WHAT?\\\
> 
> //CABLES, you dumb fra--// OH. //Hold on! Hold on! Boss, lemme - I'm FINE, lemme get --//

Prowl

> "Spark type? You need a matching spark type?" The calculations seize and stop. “I can do it!” He grabs Tarantulas’s arm. “Our sparks are identical, we have the same spark type—I can do the spark jump!”

Soundwave

> Soundwave stops fussing over him and lets him scramble toward the crates. Rumble quickly searches through what's left of them for the one with a - there it is, his foot dent. The outside is scorched on one side, but the contents themselves look okay. They were in here somewhere. He saw them. He SAW them. Where are - there they go.  
>    
>  //I got 'em! I got 'em!// And in just another second, Whirl will have them too.

Whirl

> Thank Primus for Rumble; Whirl grabs them gratefully. "Prowl--if you're sure, then get your ass in here. We've probably got one shot at this."

Soundwave

> Soundwave himself looks at the tightly gathered bunch of concerned mechs and shakes his helm. Whatever they're going to do, they need to do it quickly. He is personally familiar with how fast the spark goes and how little time they have.
> 
> And it's very.

Prowl

> He doesn’t even take the time to reply to Whirl. A flicker, and Prowl vanishes; the holomatter projector in his thigh holster clattered uselessly to the ground.  
>    
>  A second later, a space bridge opens in the ceiling, and Prowl himself drops heavily into the room. Ten percent taller, fifty percent bulkier than his avatar; a dull verdigris green instead of white, all his enforcer decals violently scraped off to reveal raw metal underneath—he’s filthy from night after night on the construction site and not nearly enough opportunities to wash it off, his every motion is marked by the exhaustion that comes from fitful recharge and low rations—but there’s a furious determination on his face and in his optics that’s been missing for months.  
>    
>  He drops to his knees next to Springer, and looks between Tarantulas and Whirl. “Tell me what to do.”

Soundwave

> Frenzy opens his mouth to say "ew". Ravage slaps him silent before he can.

Tarantulas

> _This is all happening so fast._ Tarantulas feels like he's back in the Noisemaze again, but for once his mind is clear as crystal, and he - he thinks he knows what he needs to do.  
>    
>  "W-Whirl - cables. What else do we need? Have you done this before? Have -"  
>    
>  And then in comes Prowl, and Tarantulas's spark very nearly extinguishes along with Springer's. It's incredibly jarring to see Prowl in the metal so soon after his avatar had vanished - and with all the little details transformed -  
>    
>  No, focus. Prowl's fine, Springer isn't. To Whirl: "How - where are the points of contact?"

Whirl

> “You can use a healthy spark to jump another one. From Prowl to him. It’s a—I don’t know the exact specifics, it’s a transference of energy. But it works; I’ve jumped someone before.”  
>    
>  He turns to Prowl and thrusts two of the cable-ends into his worn and weathered hands. “Hook these on, as close to your spark as you can. If this works, it’s gonna hurt like hell, but try and hold on. I don’t know if passing out will hurt his chances.”  
>    
>  And he turns again, on his heel, facing Tarantulas once more. “Same with Springer—as close to the spark as you can, Tarantulas. From Prowl to Springer. Can you do that? With what you have here?”

Prowl

> “Stay conscious. Pain. Got it.” He takes his end of the cables and lays them in his lap to open his chest.  
>    
>  As Prowl fumbles to figure out how to open his not-nearly-as-familiar-as-it-should-be hood, he looks down at Springer. Springer missing all his armor, stripped to nothing, and—Primus below, he can’t see anything except the fragile, slender newbuild he dragged with him out of Mesothulas’s lab. A medium punch to the chest could have killed him then. Prowl could have left the newbuild in the lab to starve, and that would have been the last he’d ever seen of him—but he hadn’t.  
>    
>  Prowl has never once regretted changing his mind about executing Ostaros. Never once. He’d kept waiting to regret it, and it had never come.  
>    
>  Like hell is he going to let the action he’d taken to PROTECT Springer be the one that finally kills him.
> 
> His push bar swings open in like a double door, the middle of his chest splits in half up and down, his spark chamber is bared. He immediately picks up the cables—do they have clamps on the end?—yes, good—and by feel alone tries to hook them up to his spark.
> 
> (... Somebody should probably help him, actually. One of the panels that covers his spark flips up into his face. He can't see what he's doing.)

Soundwave

> Soundwave, on the other hand, has a pretty good view of what Prowl is doing. Or, more appropriately, trying and mostly failing to do. He can't see the full spark itself, but he can see a portion of the casing and a blue glow in there between those hands, and...  
>    
>  And he's frozen to the spot, simultaneously horrified by the sight of Prowl putting his life in danger like that and stunned by what Prowl is willing to do to protect another. Deeply, deeply uncomfortable with seeing PROWL'S spark in particular, because he hasn't ever done anything to earn that privilege and doesn't believe he should ever have it, or even want it, but just as saddened by the same understanding. Wanting so much to go and be of assistance, to help Prowl help his creation and make sure that none of this - not the planning, not the work, not the destruction, not Prowl's sacrifice - is in vain, but knowing he can't bring himself to go and do it and hating himself just a little for that failure.  
>    
>  The mental ice sticking his feet to the floor finally melts, freeing him to head to the door and get away from all of this. Away from the problems and the sights and the sounds and the swirl of conflicting emotions, none of which he can affect in any useful fashion.  
>    
>  Why the door? Well, there's nowhere else he CAN go. There's nowhere in this room he can hide, after all. Not with that going on behind him.

Prowl

> Dammit, his body’s been rewired too many times for him to know where anything is without looking, he’s going to make no progress like— “Whirl!” He holds up the clamps. Whirl’s done this before, he knows how to do this. “I can’t see, plug them where they’re supposed to be.”

Whirl

> Whirl turns yet again (he’s living up to his name tonight) and faces Prowl, only to freeze for a moment at his request. It’s the first time since the disaster began that Whirl shows anything resembling hesitation.   
>    
>  Because this is _Whirl_ , who is so zealously protective of his own spark that he’s had his chamber welded shut before, and he’s standing in the brittle blue light that shines from Prowl’s chest, and Prowl is asking Whirl to put his claws so very terrifyingly near the center of his entire being.  
>    
>  It’s a very simple gesture, but the significance isn’t lost on Whirl.   
>    
>  The hesitation only lasts a moment, though, because in the next, Whirl nods, and he takes the cables, snapping them quickly and efficiently into place. “Done."

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas, meanwhile, is scrabbling at Ostaros's - no, Springer's chest, desperate to get the endoskeleton cracked open and not caring about decency in the slightest. He DOES still care about delicacy though, using the fine points of his claws to pry at seams and wrest them open with just the right amount of force. Too much would risk sending Springer into further shock, but too little would waste time and effort without results.  
>    
>  And - he’s got it. Springer’s spark chamber is exposed again, except this time the spark within is so much fainter than before, worse than a whisper - it's barely a breath away from being extinguished entirely. It's now or never. If this doesn't work -  
>    
>  Tarantulas glances back in Prowl's direction to find him already hooked up and ready, and he has to choke back an intense flood of emotion in favor of harsh practicality. Don’t lose your helm, Tarantulas. Don’t. Just take the leads in your claws and hook your – Springer. Hook Springer up to Prowl. It’s that simple.
> 
> His visor's gaze burns into Prowl's optics. "Are - are you prepared?"

Prowl

> A firm nod. "I'm ready."

Soundwave

> Soundwave's vents come easier now that he's outside the room and not masked face to semi-obscured glow with a pair of very important sparks (or near enough to discomfit him).  
>    
>  At least, they do until the more sensitive portions of his hearing come back and he realizes there are footsteps approaching. A lot of them. At high speeds.  
>    
>  ...Scratch that. They're not approaching anymore. They've just arrived, and they don't look happy.
> 
> You know that whole blaring alarm stunt his alternates pulled while they were held prisoner by the Autobots? Yeah. He's doing that. And if that's not a sufficiently large clue-by-four to the helm, the sight of every deployer still in the room popping out their best natural weaponry and making a beeline for the door should do the trick.


	59. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and Tarantulas perform a life-saving procedure; battle clashes in the background; slowly things get back under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the full fighting experience, listen to [the full Transformers: Devastation soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dlAWUmcBo3c&list=PL_AjfGgaQtibK9u_nQvsrWTFiBVl8ATjg).

Whirl

> Whirl has been in enough situations that suddenly escalated to full-scale violence to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice. His helm snaps towards the door the moment Soundwave’s alarms go up. “Looks like we’ve got company,” he says, stepping away from the three of them. “Just complete the circuit—I’ve got to go.”
> 
> He rushes out of the room with the deployers, skidding to a stop outside the door and sizing up his opponents. There has to be close to thirty or so of them, all thundering down the hallway, a wave of angry bodies ready to break against the line. He isn’t about to wait for them to arrive. Whirl takes two steps forward and carries the motion over into a fluid transformation, rotors whirring as he stabilizes himself in the air. There’s not a lot of room to fly, but Whirl can more than handle himself in such tight quarters.
> 
> He immediately begins a barrage of fire with his cannons, tearing into the front of the ranks with each blast. It slows the enemy for now, but it won’t last. «Got a plan?» He calls over the comms to Soundwave. «Because if not, I’m about to dive in.»

Prowl

> Prowl turns toward the door. "Dammit." The explosion must have got the Decepticons' attention. How many? He knows Soundwave and Whirl can handle themselves, but against too many enemies...
> 
> He looks back at Tarantulas. "Hurry. I don't want this to be the way we test Springer's new armor."

Tarantulas

> Everything’s going to pits in a toolbox. Everything that could go wrong _is_ going wrong. Except Springer’s ununtrium frame, but that won’t help any of them now.
> 
> But – the spark jump. It’s their last chance to salvage what little is left of Springer’s spark. Prowl doesn’t have to tell Tarantulas twice, so he braces himself and snaps the dual clamps on Springer’s spark chamber.
> 
> And nothing happens.
> 
> Tarantulas waits a moment, but it’s clear that whatever was supposed to happen hasn’t happened. Frag. Frag frag frag.

Prowl

> "... I don't feel anything." A useful patient tells his doctor what he's experiencing. "Isn't it supposed to hurt?"

Tarantulas

> “It should!” Tarantulas is starting to shake now. “I-it should -”
> 
> Frantic pings across the communal commlink, but Tarantulas ends up crying out across the lab as well as over comms. «WHIRL - IT DIDN’T _WORK_ -»

Soundwave

> Soundwave dips his helm in acknowledgment of Whirl and the deployers' arrival, but doesn't look at him. He's already tearing apart poorly secured comm lines in the search for the enemy group's leader.
> 
> [[No bridges.]] They can't be allowed to see something as identifiable as that. Especially not if they're still brandishing Decepticon insignia. There's no telling who they report to - or who they might give ideas. [[Take the back, prevent escape. Allow surrenders... if there are any.]]
> 
> He doubts there will be, though.
> 
> Soundwave's deployers abruptly explode out of their line and into the fray, once again ready to be the well-oiled fighting machine they were in the pits, the war, and lately, the Underworld.

Whirl

> “No bridges is fine,” Whirl replies, “but _I’m_ not taking anyone alive.”
> 
> With that he launches himself forward, his booster igniting and sending him hurtling towards the enemy. It’s a brutal, inelegant charge, roughly the equivalent of a full-body punch. The moment he collides with the line, Tarantulas’s frantic message comes through.
> 
> Whirl shakes off the nearest Decepticons with a few quick blasts from his canons and then swivels up to dart along the ceiling, flying upside-down over the heads of the enemy below. “Dammit,” he mutters aloud. Obviously, completing the circuit wasn’t enough. “Laserbeak! Go back in there, I need you to shock the hell out of Prowl!”
> 
> Clearing the crowd at last, he corkscrews neatly away from the ceiling and re-orients himself, swiveling to face the crowd of mecha between him and Soundwave. “I’m sending you some help, Tarantulas. I’m guessing you need a surge—she’ll handle it!”

Soundwave

> [[ _He can't wring information out of dead processors._ ]] Soundwave's fingers curl tight in irritation. He's going to have to find their commander, and fast. At least it'll go faster now. Touch telepathy, physical confrontation...
> 
> Laserbeak whirls free of the writhing mass with a gleeful whir and zips sideways through the door, exposing no more than a crack. (Someone takes an opportunistic shot but misses the gap. Soundwave vents in relief - then spears them in the gut with the end of his arm and, twisting, slams them to the ground.)

Tarantulas

> A surge. A surge. Of course. Activation energy. Not that electricity would serve as a substitute for the actual spark energy needed, but it’d cause Prowl’s spark to seize and power the jump. Yes, that – that had to work.
> 
> «Are we SURE Laserbeak can deliver a sufficiently extreme voltage? She – it’ll likely have to be in excess of _sixteen times_ Prowl’s baseline for it to – we’ll try, but –»
> 
> Tarantulas will be ready when she gets there though, assuring the leads still connect Springer and Prowl but careful not to touch either of them. The panic is burning deep gold in his visor – because on top of all this, he has a sudden fear for _Prowl’s_ spark now. For the pain Prowl is about to suffer, if Laserbeak really DOES have the voltage. But should he say anything? No – better not. Just – do what needs to be done. _He’s so, so sorry, Prowl_.

Prowl

> Prowl glances back at the door as Laserbeak zips inside—here to help? to tell them that things have gotten worse outside?—but only manages to get out a “Wha—?”

Soundwave

> Laserbeak's feelers clip onto either side of Prowl's back without so much as a by-your-leave, and suddenly there's enough electricity running through him to knock out a handful of minicons and then some.
> 
> {{Now _tinfoil turkey_ roast _you_!}} she cackles.
> 
> It's the best day of the last few months of her life.

Prowl

> When Laserbeak latches on and—threatens him??—his first wild thought iss s sgh ghh h dghd dg gg## #g#g g## # #g#
> 
> His scream is nothing but static. As he's electrocuted, excess spark energy burns through every wire in his body—and through the cables into Springer.

Whirl

> “Then you’d better get to them before _I_ do,” Whirl replies simply.
> 
> A few more blasts from his cannons clear him a space to land, and he does, whipping his plasma-launcher out of subspace and readying it. There’s an eagerness to fight in him, a sense of tension broken—they’ve all been waiting for the other shoe to drop, ever since they’d arrived, and it finally had. More than anything else, though, Whirl feels _rage_.
> 
> Hatred pulses through every atom of his body with every beat of his spark. It’s an all-consuming, exhilarating feeling, rendered even more vivid by the numbness that has been gripping his spark all these long weeks. Hot streaks of glowing plasma lash through the air like whips, hungrily eating through the armor of Whirl’s enemies.
> 
> “Did it work?”

Prowl

> Prowl nearly collapses, barely holding himself up on his hands, and grits his dentae shut over a strangled cry. His spark is roaring in pain—it feels like a black hole is sucking it out of its casing. His feet and hands are covered in a stabbing pain (like a thousand knives being driven into one’s body), and then the stabbing becomes a prickling, and then goes numb, as spark energy is drained out of his extremities and the stabbing pain travels ever closer to his spark. His fingertips are turning gray. His HUD is changing colors and distorting across his vision. The killswitch hadn’t hurt like this. Prowl’s come close to dying before and this feels no different.
> 
> What if Prowl isn’t strong enough to save Springer? What if his spark is just too small? Springer’s always carried a far larger body than Prowl has, Springer’s spark is obviously stronger than his, plus Tarantulas just augmented it; what if Springer needs more energy than Prowl can safely give?
> 
> His fingers are stiff and uncooperative, but he forces them to curl into fists, knuckles driving into the ground. If Springer needs more energy than Prowl can safely give, then Prowl will die to save a better mech than him. He’s ready.

Tarantulas

> There’s nothing Tarantulas can do but watch as Prowl falls forward onto his hands. He can’t touch him, can’t comfort him in any meaningful way – he can only, _must_ only, monitor the transfer of spark energy from one frame to another. (Those _fingers_. Those grey, grey fingers. Tarantulas trembles.)
> 
> Now comes a new judgment call – deciding when to separate them. Tarantulas may not have his medical scanner at the moment, but he still does have ten optics and a visor, and a few of their functions help narrow down the window to half-seconds, tenths of a second –
> 
> Suddenly he unclips and _yanks_ the cables from Springer’s chest. That’s it, that’s – that’s –
> 
> Tarantulas laughs out loud. _Did it work_. Did it work. Primus, Whirl, if only you could see the vibrant blue light dancing in Springer’s chest now, the leftover sparks from the electricity flitting jubilantly from their frames. Tarantulas can't seem to decide between vocals or comms, so it's still both aloud and transmitted. « ** _Yes_** , yes, it – hold on, hold on –»
> 
> Tarantulas quickly scans Prowl to make sure he’s not in any critical condition (please don’t be crashing please don’t spiral out please) – yes, Prowl passes muster. Then he’s promptly zeroing in on Springer for a closer inspection. A few pregnant seconds later, he unequivocally confirms the good news. «– _Yes_ yes thank Primus yes he’s alright, he’s stable, he’s, he’s–»

Soundwave

> Laserbeak’s not sticking around to get swatted out of the air by a cranky post-shock Prowl. Or one of Tarantulas’ many misunderstanding legs. Time to zip back over to her Boss and the battle outside, where she’s a little less likely to be murdered.
> 
> Rumble punches someone’s knees to scrap. Ravage leaps at them from behind, toppling them over, and Frenzy jams his drills into the sides of their helm. Buzzsaw dives repeatedly, blades whirring, cutting another mech free from the fighters and herding them backward into Soundwave’s waiting grip.
> 
> Soundwave promptly pins them with a foot and tears them limb from limb. The feeler still holding the screaming leftovers by one leg swings them and clubs yet another Decepticon into the wall before flinging them into the crowd.
> 
> So it goes.

Prowl

> Stable. Thank god. His job is done. When Laserbeak takes off, Prowl lets himself slump to the side, landing with his head next to Springer's. Weakly, wearily, voice crackling, he said, "I c##an die i#n peace now#." (He's not dying.)

Soundwave

> (txt): Negative, forbidden.
> 
> Hey, Whirl. Laserbeak's gonna shoot some cons your way as a personal thank you for giving her that beautiful chance.

Prowl

> What's that pinging in his head? Hmmm. Irrelevant.

Whirl

> Whirl pauses momentarily as Tarantulas’s comm comes in, confirming Springer’s stability before he goes back to the task at hand, which is presently shoving the muzzle of his plasma-launcher into the open mouth of the Decepticon screeching under his heel. He laughs, half at the horrible gurgling noises that erupt from his opponent when he pulls the trigger, and half from Prowl’s very dramatic declaration.
> 
> “All the dyin’s happening out here, mech,” he crows into the commline, his voice ringing with a sort of joyful viciousness. Whirl has been absorbing a steady stream of weapons-fire while he dispatches with the mech underfoot, and finally raises his attention to the others, leaving the Decepticon to perish while he claws at his face.
> 
> Simply using his cannons would be more efficient, or even his sword, in such close quarters. Whirl is taking more damage than was necessary, but he can more than handle it. He doesn’t want to kill these mecha quickly, or efficiently; he’s savoring every moment of the fight the way a gourmand might savor every bite of a meal.
> 
> And here comes Laserbeak, delivering dessert. Whirl lifts his plasma-launcher out of the way to dispatch one of them with a quick one-two blast of his chest cannons before closing with the other, optic wide and bright.

Prowl

> What's THAT ping supposed to—? Oh. Comm. He opens both messages, studies them, and—with what grim dignity he can muster—replies, «Then I suppose I'll live.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas could cry, he’s so overwhelmed with relief. In fact, he IS crying, but the tears behind his visor are being efficiently recycled, since the pores were upgraded since last time. Thank Primus, because it means he can see well enough without having to deactivate his visor – he can accurately reach out over Springer’s prone body and pull Prowl in, then shakily embrace the two of them where they lie on the floor.
> 
> It doesn’t matter that both their spark chambers are still exposed and vulnerable. It doesn’t matter that there’s still static in the cables still attached in Prowl’s chest. It doesn’t matter that this isn’t even his Prowl, that this isn’t his Springer, his Ostaros. This is it. This is all Tarantulas has ever wanted. Himself, Prowl, and Ostaros, all in the same place at the same time and not trying to kill each other.
> 
> He can’t get any words out, comms or no. It’s just too much for him to handle in the moment.

Prowl

> He's limp as Tarantulas pulls him up into an embrace. But after a moment, he shakily embraces him back. Static arcs from his spark chamber into the fur of Tarantulas's chest.
> 
> "Thank you."

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas is _definitely_ crying now. “T-thank – thank **_you_**. Thank you Prowl, you’re – you’re here, and Ostaros, a-and–” He’s burying his face in whatever pieces of the two mechs he can reach.
> 
> It’s a pretty dysfunctional family reunion, but he’ll take it.

Soundwave

> He'd _better_ live. Soundwave isn't going through all this to come out of it with a dead ally.
> 
> Somewhere in the middle of what's left of their attackers, a mech fit to put one of the murdertank Insecticons from Soundwave's homeworld to shame starts shrieking and spinning in place, hands scrabbling uselessly at one of the shot tunnels Whirl's plasma cannon left in his dorsal armor. He does a fair amount of work _for_ them, accidentally elbowing someone into shooting the mech in front of him instead of at Rumble and distracting two more long enough for the bird twins to mow them down. Energon pours out from behind his facemask, running thick pink rivers down his chin and throat.
> 
> There's a loud whine and a glow that doesn't match the blue of a spark, and then the center of his chest _explodes_ outward, courtesy of a pair of powerful hip blasters. He's dead before he hits the ground.
> 
> Ravage claws his way out of the sparking hole and leaps at the next person without even shaking himself off.
> 
> [[That one - the three-wheeler. They're his. ]]
> 
> Soundwave's feeler darts past a couple still struggling to keep Frenzy and Rumble from getting hits in and wraps around said three-wheeler's shoulders, yanking him up and over the fray. This is his prisoner now, and _maybe_ a bribe for Starscream in case they get in trouble.

Whirl

> As the number of mecha between them grows less and less, Whirl and Soundwave’s group draw nearer and nearer, and this necessitates a little teamwork. The beloved plasma thrower is put away, and Whirl lays into his foes with his blasters and his claws. He’s quite happy to cooperate with the twins, knocking a mech’s legs out from underneath him to put him into chest-drilling level or pinning someone so their head can be pile-driven into oblivion.
> 
> Ravage’s performance is a work of art; it sets Whirl laughing, and he doesn’t stop laughing until he takes out his final opponent—rather suddenly, catching even himself off-guard, with a vicious kick to the helm that had been meant to simply knock the Decepticon down. Instead, the mech’s neck snapped, twisting at an odd angle, and he crumped to the ground, having been damaged enough to interrupt the connection between the brain module and the spark.
> 
> “Oh. Huh.” Whirl stared for a moment before he knelt and finished him off with a quick shot to the chest. Whirl pauses to survey the hall. “Damn is that—is that all?” He’s not as spattered with gore as his companions: he’s scorched, bleeding a little, and his optic and cockpit glass are both badly cracked. He swivels his helm to regard Soundwave as he trots back over. “Anyone else coming? Or are we good for now?”

Soundwave

> Soundwave and most of his deployers are accustomed to fighting in close quarters without the aid of guns or blasters, Laserbeak being the obvious exception. Them being spattered is just another day, especially for Frenzy and his brother.
> 
> And Whirl's not the only one to take some damage. Missing spines (some of which are buried in other mechs' weak points), missing fangs, missing plates, dents, gouges, one wing blade chain snapped, Soundwave's arms covered in claw marks from being used as shields - ah. It was a good fight.
> 
> To some, anyway. Soundwave's looking at the dead mechs before them and shaking his helm. He wanted so much to be wrong about the refusal to surrender. Over two dozen dead mechs in exchange for Springer...
> 
> He gives the ex-leader a violent shake and telepathically demands an answer.
> 
> "N-no. Nobody else, I swear. We - I never - the roster, look at the roster. You'll see."
> 
> Satisfied that he can't feel any lies under the words, Soundwave turns to face the door, ready to re-enter with his new prize in tow.

Prowl

> Prowl nods along to Tarantulas’s babbling; the head movement makes him dizzy, and he leans more heavily on Tarantulas for balance. Yes, they're here. They're here and Springer is here, Springer is going to live, Springer is going to be invincible—and Tarantulas—Prowl has Tarantulas, he's here in his arms, and—
> 
> "Tarantulas… I love y—"

Whirl

> Whirl pauses by the door, staring at Soundwave’s captive as he’s given a good shake. When the Decepticon is done babbling, Whirl thrusts his helm forward and fixes the mech with a pinprick-small optic. “You,” he said, "have _no idea_ how lucky you are.”
> 
> He draws back. “Well. For _now_ , at least.” And then Whirl barges in through the door, attention snapping down to regard the three mecha sprawled on the floor. Everyone seems to be in one piece. ...well, except Springer, but that’s nothing new.
> 
> “Everyone good? Why is he still on the floor? C’mon, get _up_ , we’ve got work to do.” Whirl trots over to Springer and hooks his claws into his frame, staring pointedly at Tarantulas as he waits for him to help move Springer to the bed. “You can cuddle _later_.”

Prowl

> Prowl flinches as the doors slams open, and falls silent.

Soundwave

> Soundwave opts not to approach the Springer pile with his captive. For one thing, there are probably sparks out still, and for another - well, there are probably sparks out still.
> 
> Instead, he walks them to the other side of the room and parks the poor fragger on the floor. They said to check the rosters. He’s going to take a moment and do just that while the others shake Springer awake, or put him up on the berth, or whatever they still need to accomplish.

Tarantulas

> It’s probably a good thing Whirl barged in at that moment, because Tarantulas swears he heard – did Prowl say – his spark’s going to implode if he _really_ did – but no, no. Prowl never finishes what he was saying, and whatever moment was there is gone now.
> 
> Whirl’s pulling at Ostaros – no, Springer – and Tarantulas has to pay attention. They’re not done. In his blissful little moment of family reunion he’d forgotten their circumstances and what was still left to be done. Time to get up and pull your weight, Tarantulas.
> 
> Or rather, Springer’s weight. Tarantulas is on his feet again, ignoring his hidden tears in favor of simply mass-shifting up and scooping Springer’s torso into his arms, like he should have done the first time around. No worries, Whirl, he’s got this all on his own.
> 
> A moment of wavering as he looks back down at Prowl from so far up. “A-are you – can you – stand? Ambulate?”

Prowl

> Prowl slides back off Tarantulas and barely manages to sit upright. "I'm... not entirely sure." His processor is rounding probabilities to the nearest 25% so he's not trusting their results; there's a 75% chance they're still compromised. He tries to get to his feet.
> 
> And immediately flops back to his knees. "Nope." His strained spark is fluttering in its casing. "I'm not moving. I'm staying right here."

Whirl

> Whirl hasn’t exactly forgotten about Tarantulas’s odd size-changing abilities, but it still does take him somewhat off-guard. He releases Springer to the other mech’s custody for now and turns his attention to Prowl. “Yeah, it’s a hell of a thing, isn’t it?” Whirl nods sagely. “Feels like someone sucked all the energon out of your body and replaced it with water.”
> 
> He kneels and nudges Prowl. “Close up, mech.” And Whirl silently offers one arm for Prowl to grab onto. The chivalry of the gesture might be somewhat compromised by the state the arm is in: scuffed, scorched, and spattered with blood.
> 
> Prowl can sit, and probably should sit, but there’s no reason he has to do it on the floor. There are still crates and suitable surfaces elsewhere in the room.

Prowl

> "Yes. That's—good description for it."
> 
> Prowl gives Whirl a dull, confused look. Close up? Close up wha—? "Oh." He closes up his chest, latches it, and swings his push bar back into place.
> 
> And then he looks at Whirl's arm, for just a second, before grabbing it as firmly as he can manage. "... Thanks."

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s worry for Prowl is exacerbated by his inability to stand, but if Whirl’s got him, well… He’ll see to Prowl later. He has an unconscious, open-chested, limbless patient to see to first.
> 
> Back over to the berth they go – thankfully it was far enough over that the explosion didn’t upend it, but unfortunately the boxes and tools around it are in complete disarray. Tarantulas sets Springer down as tenderly as he can manage before mass-shifting down again and picking around in the mess for what he needs.
> 
> Alright, there we go. It isn’t long before Tarantulas has Springer’s chest pieced back together again. But now…
> 
> “Frenzy?” Wait, where _is_ Frenzy. “I – h-hyeh. Mind helping me reassemble? The explosion made quite the mess of your arrangement. If Prowl -” Tarantulas glances over at him. “- is in a state in which he can assist, that’d – that’d be invaluable as well.”

Soundwave

> Frenzy looks to Soundwave and the others for confirmation before leaving the three-wheeler behind to hop-walk his way over to Tarantulas. The others can keep the mech under control. He seems to have lost all his fight without anyone else to back him up anyway. (The roster has confirmed it. He gets to live a little longer for telling the truth.)
> 
> \\\I GOT RECORDS,\\\ Frenzy shouts, tapping his helm. And yeah, he can talk freely again. Who's left to come running for the source of the noise? \\\JUS' HOPE WE AIN'T MISSIN' NOTHIN' IMPORTANT NOW. DUNNO HOW TO MAKE FRESH PIECES YET.\\\
> 
> Rumble balls up and tosses him one of the rags he saved from the crates before the blast. It does an awful job cleaning up even a fraction of the mess sprayed across Frenzy's front, but at least his hands are more or less dry. No fingerprints all over the bits of armor he's sorting through and bringing back one at a time.
> 
> After a couple of unheard instructions to the last few deployers, Soundwave makes his way over to the berth as well.
> 
> [[...He's not awake.]] There's a hint of tiredness in that assessment. [[He'll wake when you finish?]]

Whirl

> Whirl hauls him up fairly easily, and bobs his head at Prowl in silent acknowledgment of his thanks.  Prowl is let down on the closest surface that passes for a chair, and once he’s settled, Whirl turns to watch Tarantulas and Frenzy re-assemble Springer. He contemplated assisting for a moment, but instead hangs back, figuring it will be best if he’s not underfoot.
> 
> There’s something in Soundwave’s tone that catches his attention. Whirl feels a faint prickle of alarm at the back of his mind, and he looks to Tarantulas questioningly.

Prowl

> As Prowl is lowered into his seat, he glances over at Soundwave—and his gaze catches on his prisoner, instead. Who’s this? One of the combatants outside? Where were the others? How many had there been? How many had died so that they could save Springer?
> 
> No one was supposed to die. Was it worth it, those lives lost to save one? Would Springer contribute enough to this galaxy to make up for what they’d sacrificed to save him? The sacrifice should never have been made in the first place. Prowl should have made sure the generators were stable. Prowl should have opened a bridge beneath the malfunctioning generator. People have died.
> 
> At least they’re only...
> 
> ... No. “They’re only Decepticons” isn’t going to cut it anymore.
> 
> Tarantulas asked him a question. "... Mhmm." Prowl leans forward in his seat, elbows on his knees, hands laced together, peering around the room. Maybe his probabilities were still a bit imprecise (although they were about 80% better), but probabilities had only ever been a second layer of calculations to him, anyway. He's built, first and foremost, for trajectories. It takes him longer than it should to reverse-engineer the rubble he sees to figure out how it exploded out, and then to use that mental simulation of the explosion to determine where Springer's pieces had gone—but once he has it, he pings out the mental map to the others. There's a slight margin of error on some of the pieces, depending on where and how some parts might have been influenced by other flying debris, but it should help them track down most of the parts.


	60. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springer is pieced back together; Springer fails to wake; Soundwave takes over.

Tarantulas

> It’s no surprise that Tarantulas hasn’t even noticed Soundwave’s prisoner, much less thought about the killing that must have gone on outside the lab. Right now it’s all Springer – well, mostly Springer, with a decent helping of Prowl.
> 
> Speaking of – Tarantulas pings Prowl a warm _thank you_ for the map and sets to work retrieving pieces and reattaching them, directing Frenzy as needed. It’s a few moments before he realizes Soundwave had asked a question, though.
> 
> “I – yes, he’s currently still in induced stasis, miracle of miracles. I’ll be reversing that once we’re certain we’re prepared.”

Soundwave

> Soundwave nods and steps back to allow those working on Springer room to do what they're doing. Frenzy cheers at the helpful map of where things might've gotten blown off to; between this and his own he should be able to gather and hand over each successive piece with very little time in between them now.

Tarantulas

> It’s strangely quiet as Tarantulas and Frenzy work, almost too quiet – no more Cons, no more battle, no more whining generators, exploding equipment, or buzzing electric shocks. It’s just the sound of metal on metal, welding, drilling, and a fit of spitting sparks here and there, with oddly synchronized back-and-forth between Tarantulas and Frenzy to coordinate the process.
> 
> Eventually all the armor’s back on, the arms and legs are reattached, the kibble replaced carefully bit by bit. Springer might not look as good-as-new as he did when they retrieved him, but he’s finally whole again.
> 
> Tarantulas takes a long moment to stare at his re-masked Ostaros before turning to Prowl. “Do you – could you approximate where you think my medical scanner might be? From on the chamber, there.”

Prowl

> Prowl remembers where the scanner had sat. Based on where it would have flipped off and slid down to the ground, the angle it would have hit and clattered on the floor, then the direction the blast would have blown it... He glances around, then points at the scanner, resting against an upturned crate.

Tarantulas

> …Damnit. One of the welded-on modules is missing. Snatching it up, Tarantulas fiddles for a moment to make sure it MOSTLY still works, and when satisfied, scrambles back over to Springer’s side. A few scans, a medical line into Springer’s arm, and Tarantulas looks up, glancing around the room at his co-conspirators. “He’ll be conscious for exactly one and a half seconds. I’ll – I can keep his optics offline, so – just stay quiet.”
> 
> Once he gets the go-ahead, Tarantulas is removing the stasis blocks from Springer’s systems and initiating reboot. Here’s the final test, the last tiny hurdle they have to jump before this Primus-forsaken mission actually completes its main goal.
> 
> But for the second time this mission – nothing. No signs of processor activity. No reflexive ventilation. Nothing. Tarantulas doesn’t have it in him to panic this time around though – he’s just going to curse vehemently under his breath while he tries in vain to troubleshoot.

Prowl

> Prowl stares at Springer, waiting for his systems to hum to life.
> 
> Nothing.
> 
> ... Nothing.
> 
> His strained spark sinks.
> 
> He doesn't even ask _what’s wrong_ this time. He's lost the energy to panic, too. He just turns his gaze toward Tarantulas, and waits for the bad news.

Tarantulas

> It comes soon enough. There's only so many directions Tarantulas can come at the problem from before he has to tell them all _something_.
> 
> "He's - he's. He's still under. Alive, functioning excellently, but - s-still comatose." He can't look any of them in the optic.

Whirl

> Whirl has gone quiet and still since Tarantulas began to run his tests. The minutes drag on, and with them the growing sensation that things are somehow not going to be as easy as everyone had hoped.
> 
> When the bad news is delivered, Whirl looks sharply to Soundwave. Reading Whirl’s facial expressions—such as they are—is an acquired skill, so it would be understandable if nobody in the room catches it. He doesn’t say a thing as he stares, but it’s obvious what he’s thinking: the look Whirl throws Soundwave’s way is very simply hopeful.

Prowl

> Prowl just keeps staring. "... Did the zero point break again?" he asked. "Was he damaged in the explosion? Can you..."
> 
> He falls silent. He can't think of anything.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas shakes his head sharply. No, neither.

Soundwave

> Soundwave gets the feeling he's being looked at, glances to Whirl, and rubs his crest. He's so tired already, and they'd said he probably wouldn't need to do this. He'd been looking forward to just... nodding at everyone, sending Springer on, making sure the others got home, and - Primus, he still has to figure out what to do with his prisoner.
> 
> He swings his arm in a sharp, mildly irritable manner and trudges forward.
> 
> [[Move out of the way.]] To Tarantulas, of course. Not Frenzy. Frenzy already knows what's going on and has his drills out, ready to stand guard over his Boss once Soundwave finishes making his way around the table. [[Go sit with Prowl. Whirl, do _not_ harm or kill his captive. Laserbeak, to him.]]

Prowl

> "... What?" Soundwave's taking over? Why? How? He's no medic, is he? What can he...?
> 
> ... Oh. Obviously. Obviously.
> 
> Prowl sits up straighter.

Whirl

> Whirl nods, remaining silent. For the moment, the gravity of the situation has subdued him, and so, he simply stays out of the way, and behaves.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas is about to retaliate, but what can he really say? Snippy comments won't get them anywhere. All he can really do is remove the medical line and retreat to Prowl's side, clutching at whatever he can get of Prowl just to keep himself grounded.
> 
> "He - you can't -" Tarantulas begins, then regresses to a weak whine. "Be - be _careful_. P-please."

Prowl

> Prowl has nothing to add that Tarantulas didn't already say. So he just lets Tarantulas cling to him, looks down, and laces his hands together in his lap so they can't clutch at the back of his neck.

Soundwave

> Soundwave watches him go, hoping Tarantulas' presence will be enough to keep Prowl steady while he watches what's about to go down. Or distract him. Or whatever else is necessary to keep Prowl from panicking about what Soundwave might be about to do (and memories of what others have already done - one of the other reasons he had hoped not to be needed for this).
> 
> Once Laserbeak is docked over his spark to protect it, he lets his feelers tap across Springer's chest and helm, listening for good, strong signals. A few more silent commands to the deployers protecting his prisoner and it's time to go. The claws clip on, clutching tight. Tendrils spread out like wriggling fingers, but do not worm into the cracks.
> 
> It would be easier on him if they did, but that, he thinks, might be too much for certain audience members.
> 
> One small shock, because finding his way into coma patients' minds seems to be easier with the help of a little jolt to get things moving in there, and he's absolutely gone from the real world, seeing nothing but the brief parade of multicolored lights and waves that precede him tripping into someone else's mind.
> 
> The question is what, exactly, Soundwave - or, more accurately, an unidentified Vehicon with a yellow band and no insignia - will find waiting for him when he arrives.

Springer

> The bar doesn't look like anything that could possibly exist in any remote place. There's no real detail outside- he never gave the outside much thought. After all, he's never seen the outside. He's not even sure what he could possibly see out of the windows. A murky city? A town? Nothing? He never gives it further thought than 'that's where I don't go.' The inside the of the bar, however, is alive. Bursting with activity, chatter and the closeness of mechs only he could surround himself with.
> 
> Springer sits in the middle, a smug look on his face as Hot Rod throws down his shanix, loudly complaining. “You've gotta be kiddin' me! You're cheating!”
> 
> “Me,” Springer asks, his tone serious, “You're accusing me of cheating?”
> 
> “Careful, Hot Rod, you're gonna hurt his feelings,” Blurr comments from the side, face screwed up in irritation as he tries to somehow move his black dot over the white one.
> 
> Hot Rod actively whines and settles in his chair, huffing as Springer settles a servo on his shoulder, giving him a shake. “Maybe next time, bud,” he jokes, swiping the shanix into his servos.
> 
> Whirl snorts, an ugly sound that makes its way forward. A cube is set in front of him. “Lucky I ain't playin', ain't you?”
> 
> And so there he spends his time, with the friends he remembers. The comfort of the bar no one has ever seen, wrapped up in the confidence he's always had, playing over and over every day. An underlying layer of something else lingers in the tense smile the green mech wears. He's done this before.
> 
> He does it every day.
> 
> And every day has an end, which is fast approaching.

Soundwave

> This isn't the first "bar" Soundwave's seen, but it's certainly one of the most interesting. And look, Springer's got some figments projected for company. They even seem to have _personality_. That may not sound like a big deal on the surface, but compared to piles of dead Autobots, an empty watch shop, and one-dimensional targets barely capable of spitting out old quotes, well. It's fascinating. How long has it taken Springer to get to this point?
> 
> He finds a seat and patiently watches Springer for a moment, wondering how finely tuned the mech's sense of internal self is. Will his presence be noted? Will Springer actually know he doesn't belong? Will he _care_ , or has this become his preferred reality?
> 
> So many questions. Only time will tell. For now, he's waiting.

Springer

> Every day has its same routine. Sometimes they play different games, sometimes they tell stories, and sometimes they just drink. Springer is in the middle of drinking when he sees someone walk by. Someone he hasn't seen before- that he's not used to. He chokes slightly when he feels a hard slap on his back.
> 
> “Whoa... check out the armor on that one.”
> 
> “Have you seen him before?”
> 
> “Seems lost, doesn't he?”
> 
> He takes a look at all of his friends, optics settling on each. All optics are on the new mech, yet the confusion is received differently. Blurr's pede begins to bounce with anticipation as Drift's servo idly taps the hilt of his sword, other servos busy moving black and white pieces. Whirl's optic has done that signature squint and the gangly mech seems to tense up. Hot Rod stares, openly, with little tact. Springer smacks the back of his helm rather quickly.
> 
> “Ow- what was that for?!”
> 
> “Will you stop staring,” Springer hisses, looking back at the stranger, “This isn't time for you to check someone out.” He moves to stand.
> 
> “Eh? Springer, where are you going,” Hot Rod whispers, moving to stand, but gets pushed back down instantly.
> 
> “Stay here. I'm gonna go see what he wants.”

Soundwave

> So he _does_ know. It's almost a shame they have to wake Springer up. This would've been an interesting series of visits, had there been an entirely different set of circumstances surrounding his presence here. Unfortunately, this is a Wrecker, and he is who he is, and if this proves successful than the chances of a repeat session are smaller than those of Prowl letting him in to lazily poke at unimportant files.
> 
> The Vehicon waves a friendly hello and motions to the seat in front of themselves. If anyone familiar with Laserbeak were in here with them, they'd recognize this as her voice, but they aren't, so...
> 
> "Hi. I'm not in trouble, am I? Looked like a good time."

Springer

> Springer crosses his arms over his incredibly vast chassis. His optics flare a little brighter at the interaction. It catches him off guard- completely off guard. This mech doesn't look familiar at all, so how could he possibly- only mechs he knew came in here. He turns to look over his shoulder, looking back at the group of friends that wait patiently until their time is up. He turns back to the stranger and huffs, a bit louder than he means to.
> 
> “I wouldn't say trouble. What are you doing here?” It's quick and to the point, which is what Springer is best at. He glances at the chair and then up at the other mech. He doesn't trust them just yet, so he won't be sitting. “You're not someone I know.”

Soundwave

> Small shrug. "I'm just visiting. See a new place, meet a new friend, talk about the mysteries of the universe over a coupla drinks. You know, the usual. There's still time, right?"
> 
> They lean to the side and wave to the others too. No smile, of course; this frame isn't built for that. But it doesn't hurt to try to identify what their purpose is and how they feel about intruders. Suddenly being dogpiled by protective avatars won't help him drag Springer back out.
> 
> "Name's 54N-D."

Springer

> The reaction of the others is varying. Drift just nods, Blurr glances, Whirl says something most likely insulting and Hot Rod waves back. Springer rolls his optics and moves the chair in front of him out, turning it around and settling on it. He crosses arms against the backrest, optics narrowing slightly.
> 
> “That's nice and all,” he says, sounding stern, “But we don't see visitors here. The only people who come in and out are standing behind me.” A thumb over his shoulder before a skeptical look. Names are nice to know, since he's pretty sure that name isn't exactly familiar. But, he's curious. Tense and curious. “Depends on what mysteries you wanna talk about. Whirl's a mystery all on his own.” But it didn't matter. He's about to speak again when Hot Rod slams a servo on his shoulder, leaning over.
> 
> “Hey. I'm Hot Rod,” he starts, but Springer lifts his arm and effectively shoves him back with his forearm, shutting him up with an amused spark in his optics.
> 
> “And I'm Springer. I live here.”

Soundwave

> Of course Whirl is the insulting one. Of course. Kind of odd looking at who Rodimus used to be before the Matrix, though. He makes a note of it for his records before moving on.
> 
> "Hey, Hot Rod." Hm. He might have to watch the one, but the others don't appear ready to pose much threat. As long as he doesn't get himself kicked out, things should be okay. "I'm sorry, you live _here_? In the bar? But this isn't a house. Wouldn't you rather be out there?"
> 
> He curls his two fingers into a fist and jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the door.

Springer

> Springer's optics follow the movement and he sighs. He wants to - he's always wanted to go out of the front doors and see where everyone else goes. “I don't leave,” he says, shifting back slightly, looking disappointed. “It's not that hard to live here. Closing time keeps it quiet and I get sleep.” Or, he tries. Most nights, he wonders what his friends are doing. What adventures lay out in the vast universe?
> 
> He feels the rush of air before he hears it and he has to refrain from telling Blurr running isn't wise in the bar. Hot Rod is leaning against the bar, looking at 54N-D with curiosity. Drift is standing behind Springer, arms crossed and an angle to his frame that shows he's relaxed, but in tune with his senses. And Whirl? Whirl is clambering over to the bar and standing at the one spot left - adjacent to Springer and the Vehicon.
> 
> “So, what's the call? We kickin' this gangly noodle one out?”
> 
> “He doesn't look like a Wrecker to me.”
> 
> “Wreckers only.”
> 
> “And Hot Rod.”
> 
> “I could be one, you know.”
> 
> Springer lifts a hand and waves off everyone's comments. “Did you come from out there?” he asks, sounding somewhat curious, mostly stern.
> 
> “Where are you from?” Blurr asks.
> 
> “What city?” Drift follows.
> 
> “Where did you come from?” Whirl snaps.
> 
> All the questions Springer has in his mind flow out in different voices in different tones.

Soundwave

> To Soundwave (or 54N-D's) credit, he doesn't flinch when everyone comes near. If anything, he puts on a show of sitting straighter and looking as happy to be surrounded as someone with a face with no movable parts can get.
> 
> "I'm from Bitrex," Laserbeak's voice says. It's an easy lie to tell. That _is_ her home town, after all. "So, yeah, out there. Way, way out there, heh. You should see it! I mean, even bar owners have to take vacations. Nobody wants to be cooped up forever, right?"
> 
> He looks around. "What time's this place close? Maybe I could show you all around. I'm supposed to go back after I'm done here. We could get the same transport."

Springer

> Bitrex? Way out there? He wrinkles his nasal ridge in thought, but his mind isn't supplying him with any visuals at the moment. He looks to the others, shrugging a little. The idea of going out- of leaving the bar is tempting, even if it's with this odd mech.
> 
> “It closes soon,” Springer says, sounding slightly disappointed.
> 
> Hot Rod grins. “Hey, that sounds like something we could do. I bet there's loads to do where you're from. What kind of job do you have?”
> 
> “Whoa, slow down,” Blurr says, ironically, of course, “You guys are forgetting that Springer isn't allowed out there. Strict orders.”
> 
> “From who,” Hot Rod asks, hanging onto Springer's shoulder and looking at Blurr dully, “Your publicist? Oh, that's right-”
> 
> “Listen, at least I have a job with them.”
> 
> “You're the messenger, you burn out,” Whirl says, laughter flooding his voice. A claw slams against Springer's shoulder and he wiggles the green mech side to side.
> 
> “Come on, Springer. Before the guys kill each other.”
> 
> Springer glances up and around, then back to 54N-D.
> 
> “It's closing time,” Drift comments, looking up at the ceiling of the bar, nebula and stars swirling into sight, “We gotta go.”

Soundwave

> "I'm a geologist!" That's what the real 54N-D wanted to be - and started studying, post-truce. Provided his records are correct. The red Starscream's ship's files were always a big mess. "I was in town to check out a private collection. The handlers picked up some rare metal. Neat stuff."
> 
> He waits until the collection of projections finish bantering to continue, quietly amused by Blurr's request for everyone else to slow down.
> 
> What is--? Where's the ceiling going? That can't be good. He's already partway into this plan. Throwing it out and starting over based on whatever that stretch of space turns the bar into will just take time and energy he doesn't have to spare.
> 
> "Springer, right? You came over first, so you should be first out. Besides, this is a Wrecker bar, right? Who's gonna be dumb enough to mess with it?" Rude, Laserbeak. Don't think he's not going to talk to you about that later. He nods his head in Blurr's direction, like he doesn't already know who that is. "Gimme your hand. We'll race them!"

Springer

> His optics linger on the ceiling and the switching of the scene steals his attention for a moment. Closing time means saying goodbye to his friends and remaining alone in the bar- like every night. Except, this time, they're all looking at him with hopeful expressions.
> 
> “Springer, we have to go,” Hot Rod says, lifting his servo to settle it on his shoulder, “Maybe you can come with us this time?”
> 
> “Sorry, man,” Whirl says, lifting a claw to his helm in a mock salute, “You won't leave unless you get up.”
> 
> “Maybe this time, the door will stay open,” Drift offers.
> 
> Only Blurr remains quiet, leaning against the chair 54N-D is in. He crosses his arms and looks expectantly at Springer. Springer looks, instead, to the vehicon. The offered servo. The idea of a race. The idea of going outside- of leaving. He looks back over his shoulder, only to see his friends still waiting, grouped together by the door.
> 
> “What's it gonna be, Springer,” Whirl asks, his optic curving upwards, “Don't you wanna see what's out there?”
> 
> Springer's optics slide in 54N-D's direction. “Race,” he asks, motioning to Blurr, “That's something he likes to do, not me. Me? I'm more of a...”
> 
> “Fighter,” Blurr says, stepping down and quickly walking to the door. He looks back at the vehicon, lifts a servo, and points at him.
> 
> “If you trick me, I'll ruin your day,” he says sternly, not an ounce of a joke in his voice, “Let's go.” A strong grip on a smaller servo.

Soundwave

> _More of a fighter_. Maybe they should have said they knew where to find a good boxing match? Doesn't matter. He's got Springer's hand. Now all he has to do is lead him - them - whoever, out as quickly as possible.
> 
> Laserbeak hoots, thrilled that her part in this seems to have gone well, if only because it's a testament to her restraint that she didn't spit and call Springer a filthy, filthy Autobot. And Soundwave is off with his new "friend", up and out of his seat in a flash and running out the door. Just because he doesn't run in real life doesn't mean he can't do it here.
> 
> Now, as long as they can keep it up all the way from the outside world to the real world...

Springer

> Honestly, he finds himself wishing he'd gone with Blurr instead. They're moving at speeds he's not quite used to, except for watching, and he isn't sure how. He can't express any concerns or ask questions and, before he knows it, his pedes are on a different ground.
> 
> A familiar ground, but he isn't sure how. Or why. His optics flick side to side and he notices a corroding building. It looks like pieces have fallen apart, scorch marks plastered along ruined walls. The sky isn't like it was in the bar- it's dark and unkind. He knows this place, the feeling of dread hanging in the air. He can feel it crawling on his plating and he shakes his arms to get it off. The name hangs at the tip of his glossa and he desperately tries to understand the crumbling surrounding - why the ground quivers at the same shake of his cycling vents.
> 
> He knows this place. What was its name?
> 
> He turns on his heel, scanning the ruins for his friends. There's no sign of Blurr's blue streak of a frame, nor Drift's oddly decorated one. He can't see Whirl anywhere, not even in the skies. And Hot Rod - where is Hot Rod?
> 
> He knows this place. His friends' whereabouts are becoming less and less of a concern and he isn't sure why. He can feel the throbbing in his helm and he's never felt a pain so sharp before. It makes his rotors twitch and he turns to 54N-D. “I know this place,” he says, but it isn't what he wanted to say.
> 
> “My friends...”
> 
> Where are they, he wants to ask.
> 
> “Are they alive,” is what he asks aloud.

Soundwave

> This... is not where Soundwave expected them to end up. This is a deeply unpleasant place, and he doesn't need the visual to tell him that. He can feel the knot of burning, upset threads under his pedes where a clean path had been just moments before. This is an obstacle of sorts, but he doesn't yet know why it exists or what it's supposed to represent. To be holding onto Springer right now is dangerous. If Springer doesn't like what's happened, or tries to tear this place apart, or breaks down and tries to drag them back to the bar--
> 
> Don't think about that. Focus on the fact that Springer has the data they both need bubbling just below the surface. Make some space and fade. Lure it out.
> 
> "No," Laserbeak says. Soundwave slips his hand loose as easily as if Springer's had been made of foil and thins out, his existence now stripped of the convenience of form. "They are not. Not here. You know where here is, don't you?"

Springer

> “I think so,” he mumbles, but he suddenly realizes there's no hand holding his. He turns, looks and finds that he's somehow been left alone. He swings his frame around, optics seeking the vehicon. Alone. Alone. He doesn't want to be left alone. His optics flare and he makes his way across the beaten path, wheels in his helm turning. “Hey, where did you go,” he asks, climbing over fallen debris with ease, “Hey!”
> 
> No one. There's no one here. Was there ever anyone here? He slips down a slippery slope, crashing into a pile of burnt debris and what appears to be remnants of plating. With every step forward, he finds himself going further back. He stares ahead at a fading horizon, not knowing where it leads. He can hear the echoes of something, so slightly pulling at his mind, begging him to pay attention. 54N-D becomes less prominent- he's already forgotten he's looking for him. He hears a crunch and his frame tenses, servo reaching for the hilt of his sword. He watches as something rolls down a few fallen chunks of a building. He walks forward and crouches, servo reaching out, digits hovering over the length of the weapon.
> 
> **'Listen to me, I'll forgive the both of us- we can both walk away from this with a better mindset, but you have to admit you were at least wrong!'**
> 
> He feels the ground shake as he listens to an echo - his echo. He grabs onto the endoscopic claw with interest and studies it. A sudden flash of events and his optics strain.
> 
> **'Kup! Sight for sore optics- just in time.'**
> 
> **'And I know just where to find the off switch!'**
> 
> He drops the weapons and backs away, optics wider than ever before.
> 
> _You know where here is, don't you?_
> 
> “G-Garrus-9...”

Soundwave

> He may not be wearing a shape while Springer travels through this scorched, broken, ruined mess of a building and crunches pieces of dead things beneath his feet, but Soundwave is there nonetheless, following and watching in silence. He's nothing but a ghost hiding behind Springer now, observing, debating, conferring with Laserbeak in secret beyond the boundaries of Springer's consciousness.
> 
> At least until he sees (hears tastes feels) the fear and catches the name of the location. Those, he knows. Prowl told him about them, once.
> 
> There's something Soundwave _can_ do about this, but he's not entirely sure that he _should_. Tricky business, playing with other mechs' traumas. Most don't respond well. Leaning on this particular button _might_ drive Springer so far deep into himself he'll never come out again. And no stranger will ever be trusted again. He'll have ensured that much.
> 
> On the other hand, Springer's a Wrecker. And Soundwave has known enough Wreckers in his time to know that most of them, when defeated, crave a chance for revenge. For payback. Humiliation at the hands of others isn't to be tolerated.
> 
> Blurr did say Springer was a fighter.
> 
> One message from Soundwave to Laserbeak. One message from Laserbeak to Frenzy. One message from Frenzy to... whoever has what he needs.
> 
> \\\\...LISTEN UP. I CAN'T TELL YA WHY, BUT THE BOSS NEEDS OVERLORD. ALL YOU GUYS GOT. HE GOT VISUAL SPECS ALREADY. NEEDS MORE VOICE.\\\

Whirl

> Whirl has been watching in rapt silence. He’s never been on this end of the equation before, and he finds himself wondering how fast things are happening on the other side. Is Soundwave experiencing hours in there while only moments pass outside? Whirl doesn’t know. He only vaguely recalls his own experience, and hasn’t talked about it to anyone, not even Soundwave.
> 
> Frenzy’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. “Wh—Overlord?” Immediately, his optic narrows in suspicion. It isn’t difficult to put the pieces together, knowing what he does about the last place Springer had been conscious. He isn’t sure he likes it, but if it works, it works. “I ran into him a year or so ago. I can send you stuff from that.”
> 
> Whirl’s contribution has part of his recollection of Overlord’s rampage through the Lost Light, and, sure enough, there are sound clips of his joyously murderous boasting peppered in there.

Prowl                                                               

> The wait is interminable. And Prowl wasn't expecting it to be broken by the gentle whisperings of Frenzy.
> 
> He starts, then lifts his head to look over at—at Soundwave. (The view isn't as awful as he expected. But the knowledge of what it was...) Overlord? Why in the world? How could that possibly help...
> 
> ... Prowl is in no position to question right now. "I've got a recording." One on the run who had commed Prowl to taunt him. He transferred the recorded exchange to Frenzy.

Tarantulas

> Primus almighty, if Soundwave needs clips of _Overlord’s_ voice to play in Springer’s head – Tarantulas scrambles to suppress the panic rising in his chest. He doesn’t have anything to offer though, so he keeps quiet, continuing to clutch Prowl as if he were a life-preserver.

Soundwave

> Frenzy snatches up both sets of data and stuffs them into a comm to Laserbeak. She sorts through them, feeding them into Soundwave through the half-active telepathic link, and waits.
> 
> A shadow quickly grows and spreads over the ground in front of Springer, boiling up from nothing to become a positively massive form it should be utterly impossible to mistake. Heavy footsteps willed into echoing louder than usual come to a stop just behind him.
> 
> Overlord's figure rolls a dark, horrible laugh inside its chest before giving full voice to both that and the words that follow.
> 
> "No shooting until I'm done playing."

Springer

> Springer feels something looming behind him and it raises his senses. The surrounding area quivers as he lets out a few shaky vents, his servos curling into tight fists at his side. Garrus-9 holds so many of his strongest memories and he's beginning to regain most of them. Killing Stalker, laying waste to him with his own weapon. He swallows thickly as the growing shadow reminds him that Stalker wasn't the last mech he fought.
> 
> No, it was someone much bigger. Someone much stronger. A sharp intake and he freezes. There are a range of emotions that flow through him. Fear is not foreign to him, but it is something that he's learned to control. But this, this sudden, cold grip on his brave spark - it is something that shakes him to his core. Quick to chase is anger, a boiling race that causes his spinal strut to tingle with anticipation. The ground rumbles as his frame shakes just slightly. Debris falls to the ground, crumbling to nothing.
> 
> That voice is what gets him to turn. Blue optics stare, wide and unbelieving, at the towering form.
> 
> _Are your Wreckers ready?_
> 
> “ **You**.” The shaking in his voice is not to be mistaken as fear. It is anger. A pure, burning hatred that can only be expressed with one word. An accusing spit of sounds at the looming figure and a quick movement. His servo on the hilt of his sword, drawing the blade he is most skilled with.
> 
> Springer remembers how this ended, but this isn't the last time.
> 
> This is the first time in a long time.

Soundwave

> "Me." His smile is smug, even in the face of Springer's fury. It has to be. Soundwave needs that rage to burn hotter, burn brighter. To fuel Springer all the way to the end of where they have to go, past every horror here and back where he belongs. "You're welcome to follow me and raise the alarm, lightweight."
> 
> People to supposedly kill, places to potentially destroy. Springer knows how it theoretically goes. He was nearly one of them.
> 
> Overlord runs.

Springer

> His fury is like a fire, flaring out and corrupting the world around him. Pieces of the memory begin to crumble and structures continue their descent to the ground. He runs after him, pedes slamming heavy on a fading ground. The surrounding is shifting, changing in swirling motions. He keeps his optics locked onto that large back, knowing that if he gets the chance, he will dig his blade into it to turn the mech around. An opening shifts and the ground moves beneath them.
> 
> Elevation is key and the ground rises as Springer runs. Like running up a ramp, he makes his way behind Overlord, stumbling only when the ground crumbles. His rotors burst to life, using a powerful spins to push him back into place. Battle suits him. It settles well in his mind and his frame.
> 
> “Turn around and face me,” he shouts, anger flooding his voice, giving him the growl of the famous leader. He is what they say he is - he is a warrior. The ground settles, and the roof forms quickly around them, creating a barrier of sorts; a ring to fight within; a pit. With the ruined environment far beneath them.
> 
> “Now you can't run anywhere.”

Soundwave

> Good. This is good. They're in the core of the knot now, buried deep within the old tangle of mental threads. Soundwave can feel the bindings holding Springer loosening up, ready to finish pulling themselves apart and straighten out with just one more tug. They're so _close_ to breaking free.
> 
> Springer can do this. He _has_ to do this. The only way out is to confront and then act to change his perception of things. And reshaping an accepted truth may technically be tampering with Springer, but it's within the boundary lines Whirl drew when they first met.
> 
> Overlord scoffs and throws his arms wide. Take your best shot, puny Autobot.
> 
> _This_ , Laserbeak reminds him, _is going to hurt._

Springer

> He can feel himself loosening. The time he spent within the bar had tightened his joints. Endless hours of enjoying time with his friends were now gone and the heat of his anger seems to have melted the stiffness away. His servo tightens on the hilt of his sword and he glares dead ahead, staring at the titan responsible for putting him here. He doesn't know where here is, per say, but he knows he does not want to be here. Not anymore.
> 
> He's out of the bar. He's away from the confines of its walls, away from the loneliness that lingered there. He's away from the desperate attempts to make his friends stay, the whispers of words unknown and the long, far too long, hours spent staring at the ceiling of the bar; to the vast universe he could never see. He grits his denta and stares at the taunting mech before him.
> 
> He swings his sword down and he's able to make the environment move. The swing of his sword seems to move his arm- his real arm. An arm that hasn't moved in years. A backstrut that hasn't arched finally bends. Springer bursts to life with the swing of an arm and his fist connecting with Overlord; no. It's someone he's never met before, but the poor sod is in the way.

Soundwave

> Overlord rocks off his feet and over the edge of the roof in a way that is far too dramatic for the strength of the punch leveled at a mech his size, but they left reality behind back when the universe started spreading into the ceiling of a bar. He crumbles into nothingness as he falls, a faint gurgle escaping his vocalizer before all is gone.
> 
> The world begins to follow shortly afterward. That is, Soundwave's impression of it does, because his connection to it is no longer needed. Springer's already found the way out.
> 
> He knows that because _he happens to be the poor sod in question._
> 
> Soundwave's far too exhausted for his normally spot-on reflexes to successfully kick in and let him dodge the blow. It's not strong - it's wild, and strikes him from an odd angle, making only incomplete contact - but the crunch and tinkling of breaking, falling glass is unmistakable. His helm (and indeed, most of his upper body) are thrown back. He stumbles, then, and let him tell you, he hasn't returned his mind to his own frame so quickly in _ages_.
> 
> Both feelers snap free a spark's pulse later, one of his hands going up to shield his face from view. It takes him a half-second to remember which set of hands are currently his, though, and in that time one bizarre, vaguely insectoid red optic and part of a startled, snarling mouth filled with sharp, glowing, purple fangs (one of which is broken) can be seen between his skinny fingers.
> 
> He adjusts to hide them with his arm instead, skittering back and away from Springer, using the other arm to hold Frenzy still. Grotesque but creative threats spill out of the spiny red minicon's mouth, promising all sorts of disturbing new encounters with various medical implements and four oxide sharks.
> 
> Looks like Soundwave managed to wake Springer.
> 
> Hoo-Primus-damned-ray for him.

Whirl

> Whirl has not stopped watching closely, and he doesn’t miss an instant of Springer’s re-awakening: the sudden blaze in his optics, the way his frame goes from being utterly still to electrified with life and (familiar!) fighting spirit, the arc of his fist as it moves through the air, and then—
> 
> _CRUNCH_.
> 
> The chopper’s first thought is a flicker of uncharacteristic concern, because, all things considered, he’d honestly rather not have Soundwave get his _entire face_ broken to pieces while trying to help them all, but before he can even muster the mental wherewithal to be properly worried, he’s greeted with a sight he doesn’t expect. It’s Soundwave’s face, fanged, four-eyed, and positively wicked, which until this moment has been hidden beneath the impassive curve of his visor. It’s only there for a fraction of a second, and then it’s gone.
> 
> Whirl blinks. _Huh. Neat_ , he thinks to himself.
> 
> And then he gives his head a little shake and springs forward. “Whoa, _whoa_! Calm down, Ch—Springer. Calm down.” He immediately pushes his way towards them, trying to at least partially shield Soundwave from further blows with his gangly frame and pushing at Springer’s broad chest with a single massive claw. “Cool it. You’re good, mech. You’re good.”


	61. Operation: Spring Springer - Pt. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Springer awakens; a standoff occurs; eventually all disperse.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas has been waiting increasingly restlessly ever since Overlord was brought into the picture, nearly driven to actually letting go of Prowl for the sake of his signature agitated pacing. But no – he’s cut off before he can do so, in a flash of an arm and a shattering of glass. “S- _Springer_!”
> 
> Tarantulas is completely blind to the revelation of Soundwave’s face, far more fixated on the one who’d revealed it in the first place. Despite Springer’s blatantly violent intent, Tarantulas rushes forward, not so much to shield anyone as to – to – well, honestly he’s not sure. He just knows Springer’s awake now, and pits if he’s going to sit on the sidelines while Ostaros - Springer - is in obvious distress.

Prowl

> When Springer suddenly shoots upright, Prowl jumps to his feet (and almost loses his balance)—Springer is alive, he’s awake, he’s—
> 
> Punching Soundwave. “Spri— Soun— cut that out!”
> 
> And then the civilian with the crunchy, organic, but absolutely terrifying-looking body mods decides to charge at the furious half-conscious Wrecker. "TARANTULAS! Get back here!"

Springer

> Whoever he punched was definitely not Overlord and the amount of force he has used was probably misplaced. Even so, Springer curls his fist up in a defensive gesture, prepared to punch the next mech approaching. But, it is the familiar push of a claw that forces a temporary ease.
> 
> Whirl's presence seems to capture his attention for just a moment. He glances at him briefly, preparing to ask what's happening, when he feels an approach. His anger erupts as if it never dwindled and he quickly reaches for the hilt of his sword. He doesn't know who this mech quickly approaching him is, but his name is being said by too many voices he's unfamiliar with. He swings the sword into the air in an arc and reaches forward with his other servo. A gentle (not that gentle) of a shove to Whirl. “Move-!”
> 
> He reaches for something he's unfamiliar with. Tufts? Fur? He doesn't know - he doesn't need to. He hoists his frame up and lunges from his lying position, pulling his sword around and under the chinplate of the mech in purple. His optics are narrowed, burning blue with an anger and fury unmatched. The blade shivers against the pieces of plating it touches, threatening to pull up any second.
> 
> “Don't move.”

Soundwave

> Soundwave's not going to leave himself or his minicons where Springer can get at them again. Tarantulas - Tarantulas' loss would be a shame at this point, considering Prowl's attachment to him, but Soundwave's isn't so great he's willing to risk more important lives by interfering.
> 
> He backs up even more, at least twice past Springer's arm's reach, and starts searching his subspace pocket for a spare visor with his free hand.
> 
> ...Just the old set that will be too recognizable to risk wearing. Damn it.

Tarantulas

> Oh – oh Primus. In an instant Tarantulas’s concern for Springer is completely subsumed by fear and panic, two reactions he should _not_ have to be having around Springer. Because this is definitely Springer, not Ostaros. Ostaros wouldn’t – this isn’t what Tarantulas wanted him to be, he wasn’t –
> 
> Tarantulas is frozen, unable to think straight, completely forgetting the myriad ways he could escape the situation. Instead he’s paralyzed, haunted by flashes of the last time he’d been face-to-face with his creation, memories that were _far_ too similar to what was playing out before his optics now.

Whirl

> Whirl lunges after Springer again, loosing an undignified _blart_ of sound that is half-static, half-electronic warble. He intends to grab Springer and pull him back again, but hesitates, seeing how close Springer’s blade is to Tarantulas’s throat. If he jostles Springer too hard one way or the other, that sword might slip.
> 
> This isn’t at _all_ the way things are supposed to go. Springer wasn’t even supposed to see him, and now he’s got to try and talk the mech down. Whirl hasn’t even had time to be properly relieved that Springer’s up and about again, as all of his attention is focused on making sure he doesn’t kill everyone else in the room. “Primus fraggit, Springer, _calm down_! You think these people would be alive if they were a threat? With _me_ in the room?”

Prowl

> Prowl’s wires freeze, and his spark stutters hard enough to send painful electric shocks across his engine. No, not Tarantulas, not after everything they went through to get here—
> 
> “Springer, no!” He lunges at them, shoving Tarantulas back and the sword to the side, sliding himself in between them—and if that means the sword’s aimed at his neck now, so be it. “Springer, remember Kup! Remember Tsiehshi! You’re doing what he did—you’re attacking the people here to rescue you! We're ALL here to HELP.”

Springer

> Springer's optics flare a brighter blue, bordering on the rage of white. The adrenaline, though sudden, is pumping through him at an incredibly fast pace. Whirl's words make his grip tighten on the hilt, optics narrowing at the mech in front of him; the stranger he doesn't recognize. Even so, Whirl wouldn't let just anyone waltz into a room; if they were a threat, they would be dead. Still, the lingering presence of Overlord within the confines of his mind is pumping fear and vengeance through him.
> 
> The sudden jostle of his sword is probably not a good idea, either. It only irritates him more and his tension only winds tighter. Prowl. A familiar face, but one he is not expecting to see. “Rescue me,” he says, sounding skeptical, optics roaming the crowd. Whirl is unpredictable, but he knows this as a fact. The two strangers in the room make up half of his supposed rescue party?
> 
> Kup. He remembers. He remembers and it twists his spark into a knot. Attacking people who are there to help; he's seen the worst side of it. The turmoil shows in his optics. Does he trust these strangers with mechs he's known to be comrades? Or does he shove Prowl back and continue to wrangle them up? His servo grips the hilt tighter before he swings the sword back to his side, but the tension has gone absolutely nowhere. “If you're here to help, then help.”
> 
> His agenda has changed; it shows in his serious facial expression.
> 
> “Where is he?”

Tarantulas

> In the midst of Springer’s attack and Prowl’s intervening, the sword against Tarantulas’s neck manages to nick a cable, and the tiny sting of pain shocks Tarantulas, snapping him out of his daze. Thanks to Prowl, though, that’s the only damage he takes – he stumbles back, thrown off balance and barely able to keep from collapsing to the floor.
> 
> There are no words from his vocalizer – only choked sounds of what feels like betrayal and grief. His visor's blown wide, shining pale. _Twice_. This is the second time. He can't believe it - but at the same time, he can. He has to. This is - this is Springer now.

Prowl

> Crisis averted? He doesn't know what Springer's going on about—they already DID help—but he just came out of a coma. And Springer's always been easy to read, it won't take long to figure it out.
> 
> He never looks away from Springer's sword (and the massive chest behind it) as he reaches back to search for Tarantulas. "Who? Kup?" Prowl shakes his head. "Not here. He's—ahh—was in the Sol system, last I heard from him. You can comm him later."
> 
> After a moment, he finds Tarantulas's arm, and slides his hand down to take his claw. You're safe.

Soundwave

> [[Overlord is nowhere,]] Soundwave thinks, somewhat irritably. Springer may be able to tell that the voice is coming from inside his helm, not through his audio receptors. [[That Overlord was a dream - one he designed.]]
> 
> He doesn't turn around. Springer doesn't need to see who he is from the front. The back is bad enough. He'd meant his involvement in this to stay secret. Won't work now. There's nobody on that Cybertron like him _or_ the crowd of minicons.
> 
> [[You have been comatose since the real Overlord's attack. A zero point in your helm - incurable, until today. But you would not wake. It was his duty to lure you out of your own mind again - out of the bar with the nebula ceiling and the other Wreckers, and the crumbling ruins of that prison.]]
> 
> [[He isn't really a geologist.]]
> 
> {{And this being _Bird_ voice, yes. Not 54N-D.}}
> 
> [[If you will only trust one mech, trust Whirl.]] Soundwave extrudes a feeler and points it in Whirl's direction. [[In your helm, he was the voice of suspicion. Ask this one for the truth.]]

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas clasps Prowl’s hand tightly in return, suddenly desperate for the reassurance and contact. His own visor never leaves Springer, either, but he’s not nearly as wary as Prowl, simply stunned.
> 
> So _that’s_ what was going on with Overlord. Tarantulas thinks he might know a fraction of what’s going on, but honestly he’s not wholly certain of much at the moment. The only thing he’s 100% on is that even if he _could_ speak, he HAS to keep quiet. This isn’t about him right now, no matter how much it pains him.

Whirl

> Whirl remains still, letting Prowl put himself between the blade and Tarantulas, and listening to everyone’s various explanations. While Soundwave confesses as to his methodology for luring Springer back into the waking world, Whirl gives a huff of exasperation through his vents, though he isn’t too surprised, considering Frenzy’s earlier request.
> 
> Still, can anyone blame Springer for overreacting to that particular brand of therapy? Whirl doesn’t dwell on it. Soundwave has paid enough. Whirl hadn’t expected to hear that he was part of Springer’s internal psyche at all, but of all the roles he could’ve played, he supposes that Springer’s inner suspicion isn’t too off-base.
> 
> “He’s telling the truth, Chief.” Dammit. It slipped out that time. “Just _chill_ for a second and try not to cut anyone to pieces before we can explain it to you. None of the other docs they sent your way made any progress. So...” he shrugs. “We decided to try things our own way. It’s...” Whirl suddenly realizes how _much_ explaining there is to do; Springer doesn’t know anything about the multiverse crisis, or alternate dimensions, or anything like that.
> 
> _Well, we’ve got to start somewhere_ , he thinks to himself. “Honestly kind of complicated, but I wouldn’t have brought all these guys into it if I thought they’d do more harm than good.”

Springer

> Cobalt optics don't miss the movement. The slow joining of hands and the surveyed horror on one face, wariness on another. He isn't a murderer; he doesn't lunge to split them apart. Instead, his lipplates tug downward as he tries to process the situation at hand. He gives Prowl a look of neutrality, but the cowering mech behind him receives a mixture between judgment and a silent threat. _Don't make any sudden moves._ Annoyance floods his face and he rolls his optics.
> 
> “Not Kup -” Interruptions. The tension in his frame winds up tighter as he listens to the various voices around him. Some familiar, mentioning familiar places and speaking in tones he's heard before. Others are familiar in a more realistic way. His optics linger on Soundwave for a moment, listening to the explanation. So, he was in a coma? The bar? The Wreckers - they were never real? Everything was all in his head? He lets his limbs loosen the more he listens, his optics flicking away from Soundwave as thoughts swirl up into the forefront of his mind.
> 
> He remembers the feeling of something impacting his face, tearing upwards. It's the last thing he remembers before the remnants of a dream that linger. Before the bar, the wreckers, the nebula. He flinches at the sound of Whirl's voice. It's a lot to process and he finds himself wishing things were moving a little slower so he could catch up; when did history suddenly move at the speed of Blurr? His grip on his sword loosens and he reluctantly slides it back into the rotor sheath on his back.
> 
> His attention is on Whirl. A mech he understands and knows that he can at least trust more. More than anyone else in the room. “Whirl,” he says, looking at the mech. The nickname, if it can be called one, is well received, but there's no time to relish in it. “Who are they? They don't look familiar at all.”

Soundwave

> _They don't look familiar at all._
> 
> He can't help but wonder how Prowl's going to take that. But he'll let Whirl do the rest of the talking for now.

Prowl

> Crisis averted.
> 
> ... Even if it stings that Springer can't even _recognize_ — has Prowl changed so much that—?
> 
> No. Shut up. Lock that away. Prowl's expression doesn't flinch. It doesn't matter.
> 
> He takes a few steps backwards (and out of sword's reach), taking Tarantulas with him. Don't say anything dumb, Whirl.

Tarantulas

> Even though Tarantulas retreats with Prowl, his mind is still crying out _no, Prowl please no, don't pull him further away_ \- because even though Springer's lashed out at him twice, his spark can't bear to be dragged away from the one he just helped rescue from the brink.
> 
> But - now Springer's looking at him, and Tarantulas wilts. He can still feel the aggression there, and it's killing him. _Please, he wishes you could understand_...

Whirl

> “Well, you know Prowl,” Whirl says, nodding to him. “As for the rest... first thing you need to know is that the war’s over. Mostly. Still some pockets of ‘Con resistance, but Megatron’s been apprehended and they’ve got him on ice—as far as I know, permanently. Lotta mecha went neutral, and most of the ones in here are just that. The fuzzy one’s Tarantulas. He fixed your zero point. He’s a neutral.”
> 
> He nods towards Soundwave. “That there is Soundwave, _who is also a neutral so don’t try anything_ , and he’s the one who pulled you out of your head. If he looks _different_ , there’s a _reason_ for that, but it’s a really long story that I’m gonna take one step at a time. Are we all on the same page so far? Right? Ragtag group of misfit Cybertronians all banning together to save _your_ ungrateful hide?”
> 
> Whirl jabs Springer with a claw. He is, perhaps, being coarser than one might expect under the circumstances, but these are mannerisms that Springer should be very familiar with at this point.

Prowl

> "To be clear," Prowl throws in, "NOT the Soundwave you know. Same name, different person."

Soundwave

> He's still going to edge a little closer to a safer spot in the room, just in case Springer takes it into his head to fire a gun or throw a sword. Whirl and Prowl get grateful pings, though. They didn't have to go even that far explaining his existence and he knows it.
> 
> (Over in the corner, the prisoner whimpers quietly. They were hoping they were wrong about the identity of their captor.)

Springer

> Prowl. He looks back over at Prowl and nods his helm. Definitely knows him, but the appearance is a little different. Even so, he seems to be more and more at ease the more Whirl explains. He looks over at the fuzzy one - Tarantulas. “Never heard of him,” he grumbles, looking over at Soundwave. The name alone makes him tense and it's clear that he'd like to reach for a weapon, but he refrains. Prowl had said that these people were here to help him and Whirl was confirming. For now, he has no reason not to trust them. He looks like he's trying to cycle through it all and understand where it all fits. He looks over at Whirl and reaches up a servo, sliding it up to nudge the claw away from him. "I'm gonna trust you, Whirl..."
> 
> He's used to Whirl; he's known him long enough to read mannerisms. Maybe not this Whirl, but Whirl all the same. “I'm not ungrateful,” he says, “You've got strangers running up on me when I'm waking up. What did you expect me to do?” He looks back at Soundwave, then Tarantulas, then Prowl. He hasn't forgotten the way the two seem to huddle together- not that it's his business, he just finds it odd.
> 
> “Prowl.” A nod. “Tarantulas.” A judging nod. “Soundwave.” A pause. “How's your face?”

Soundwave

> [[Sore. And not for your optics.]] He's silent for a moment. Breaking, stealing, or otherwise messing with his visor and exposing his face when he's not ready for it is up there on the list of Personally Decided Sins. But it was probably his fault for using the tactic he did. And he'd really like to change the subject. [[He's fine.]]

Prowl

> Prowl glances back at Soundwave. Still hiding his face?
> 
> A holomatter sham-wow appears in front of Soundwave. Here. Bandana?

Soundwave

> Still hiding his face. Only one person in the room has the right to see it and this is entirely the wrong setting for that.
> 
> Soundwave twitches slightly at the sudden appearance of a floating cloth, but doesn't question it. He remembers this thing from the Titanic night, and knows who it came from. Prowl gets a second gratitude ping while Soundwave makes tiny knots in the corners to tie it to either side of his crest.
> 
> Much better. He can let his arm drop now.

Whirl

> _I’m going to trust you, Whirl_. Whirl hadn’t expected those words to fill him with such relief, but they do. All right. This entire enterprise hasn’t gone to shit. Yet.
> 
> “Okay, that’s fair. This guy’s kind of _emotional_ ,” he nods at Tarantulas, “but as far as I can tell, he mostly means well. Nobody here’s gonna hurt you. Okay... uhh. Damn, where do I even begin?” Whirl looks down and taps the underside of his helm with his claw. “Well, like I said, war’s over. You’ve been under for years. Right now things are kind of... in a way, quieter than before, and in _another_ way, even more crazy. Good news: Cybertron’s safe, though. It’s livable again, and we’ve got a couple of cities there. Bad news: the neutrals elected Starscream their ultra-mayor or something. But so far, it hasn’t gone to hell yet. So, _that’s_ something.”
> 
> Whirl looks back up. “Do you have any specific questions right now? Because I’ve got a _lot_ to fill you in on, but it’s probably best if I don’t dump _all_ of it on you at once.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas suddenly suppresses the urge to laugh. The sudden appearance of the cloth, now tied up as a veil, and the way Whirl dismissively calls him ‘ _emotional_ ’ – it’s surreal, more ridiculous and outlandish to him than anything else was this mission. Yes, maybe he’s emotional, but if you knew even _half_ of the story…

Springer

> He shrugs at the answer he receives from Soundwave. He could have hit him harder, honestly, so he isn't sure if there's a reason to apologize. In fact, the thought fades away as quickly as it arrives. Soundwave knew what he was getting into, he assumes, so a hit is most likely part of the natural course of things. He turns his attention back to Whirl, finding the information mostly reliable through him. As far as Tarantulas goes, he can see the emotion on his face - it hasn't changed in the last few minutes. “That's obvious,” he says, arms crossing over his chassis. He shifts his weight and reminds himself that he isn't so stiff anymore; he can move.
> 
> “War's over,” he repeats, confirming that he registers it, “That's good news, I guess.” Even if it means he missed a majority of it. He wrinkles his nasal ridge as he mulls over the new information. Cybertron safe? The relief is almost visible in his optics - almost. Then Whirl drops another bombshell and it isn't one he expects. “Are you joking,” he asks, sounding serious, but skeptical all at once. “Why would they elect Starscream? The guy couldn't find his way out of an oil can if I gave him a knife to open it.”
> 
> He's bristling and it's beginning to show. “Sounds like he cheated if you ask me,” he grunts. He drops his arms to his sides and thinks of the most important questions he could ask, but there are too many to possibly get answers for right now. He looks at Prowl, Soundwave, Tarantulas, and finally Whirl.
> 
> “... Where's everyone else? Are we still together or did we fall apart?”

Prowl

> "He did cheat," Prowl confirms, "and also most of the voters were NAI—neutrals, who have no idea what Starscream is capable of and weren't willing to listen to the Autobots."
> 
> The questions, he assumes, are about the Wreckers; so he's leaving that to Whirl.

Whirl

> “Basically, what Prowl said. It’s because the city’s mostly populated by a bunch of idiotic self-righteous _neutrals_ who think they know what’s best for everyone,” Whirl snaps irritably, “honestly, it’s not worth it to _go_ to Cybertron if you can avoid it, these days. As far as everyone else...”
> 
> Whirl trails off for a moment before he gathers his thoughts. “A lot of the Wreckers are still around. Impactor, Guzzle, Kup, Perceptor, and Verity made it off G-9 with you. They fixed Fort Max—he’s doing great, actually. Verity’s on Earth, now, and last I heard Guzzle and Impactor had shacked up and were off on their own. Perceptor’s on Cybertron right now, and Roadbuster’s still on Debris. I don’t... know about anyone else, because I’m out. Veto.” He doesn’t dwell on the topic, but he won’t lie to Springer if he asks.
> 
> “But the Wreckers have been effectively out of commission since G-9. I can’t tell you whether or not there’s any way to re-form them, or anything like that.” He shrugs.

Springer

> Prowl and Whirl both confirm that Starscream basically cheated. Well, that's enough to get him to stay away from Cybertron for a while. “Not planning on going there.” That takes Cybertron off of his map, however, and he isn't sure where else he can go. He isn't even sure where he is at the present time, more concerned about the people around him. He looks around the room with slight curiosity, listening as Whirl continues to explain everything.
> 
> His helm jerks back down when he hears Whirl's next statement. They were alive, but everyone sounds like they scattered. How disappointing. “Debris, huh?” He tilts his helm as he rumbles in thought, optics dimming as he mulls over the list of where the Wreckers are now. Well, mostly ex-Wreckers, right? “You? Out?” He scoffs, as if offended for Whirl. “Saw that coming,” he comments, bitterly. “No one ever takes a second to think things through. You're fine.”
> 
> He huffs and lifts a servo to rub the back of his neck cables, easing tension. “Guess I'm gonna have to start cleaning up the mess I left.” Pause.
> 
> “So... where are we?”

Prowl

> "Classified."
> 
> Sorry. Reflex.

Whirl

> _Saw that coming._ To his credit, Whirl doesn’t flinch. There are too many people here he’s uncomfortable being vulnerable in front of for him to lose control of his reactions, but that _does_ genuinely hurt. His antenna gives a momentary, miniscule flick backwards., but he steels himself against any other reaction. Springer was probably right. His days with the Wreckers had been numbered from the beginning.
> 
>  “I’d tell you where we are, specifically, but I don’t know. We should _probably_ get you back to Debris, though. We kind of... stole you. So, the sooner we get you back there, the better chance we have of nobody noticing that we stole you. Look, you’ve got my frequency—“ He pings Springer once, just to be sure. “—you can call me up if you want more questions answered. But it’s probably best that we get some more doctors to look at you, anyway. But you should probably get home, for now.”

Prowl

> Which brought up an important point. "As Whirl said—we kind of stole you. Everyone in this room has willingly risked their safety, their freedom, and potentially their lives to save you." Because Prowl didn't doubt that some of the Wreckers would have attempted to kill them for this stunt. "... Except him."
> 
> He points to the Decepticon in the corner.
> 
> "If you tell anyone about this—we're all endangered, for helping you. So don't."

Tarantulas

> Finally, Tarantulas starts to say something – but he stops himself, because what does it really matter, to argue about medical health? It’s not like he’s going to get the chance to examine Springer any more himself, and he can’t stop him from leaving and seeing other medics.
> 
> The thought – Springer, leaving – makes Tarantulas clench Prowl’s hand hard.

Prowl

> Prowl squeezes back.

Springer

> Springer's nasal ridge wrinkles up. It's a lot to take in, honestly. The news of no more war, of the Wreckers being disbanded, Whirl present, Prowl a different look, this Tarantulas and Soundwave. And now the fact that his rescue is a secret? His optics flash and he lifts a servo to rub at his faceplate, digits pressing against his temples. It makes his processor hurt and the throbbing is beginning to pound louder against his helm plating. He accepts the ping and returns it to ensure the transfer of comm links.
> 
> “All right. So, I'm supposed to tell people I just woke up?” He figures that if he was in a coma, people will be surprised to see him. He shifts his weight, moves and finally takes a few stressed steps to the side, rubbing his palm up his faceplate as he hisses out his frustration. It's a lot- so much to get through.
> 
> Home.
> 
> He needs to get home.
> 
> The rotors on his back spin around just once.
> 
> “I have to go to Debris. I can't waste more time.”

Prowl

> "Tell them whatever you want. As long as you don't tell them we were involved."

Whirl

> “Here, step back. I’ll send you home.” Whirl shuffles away until he has enough room to transform; he does so without hitting the floor, as always, bobbing neatly in the air. In another moment the room is illuminated by the swirling blue vortex of a space bridge. “Don’t worry, it’s safe,” he says, “I travel by them all the time. And, I’ll explain _that_ later, too.”
> 
> The bridge is going to take Springer right back into the room they took him from. There’s a moment of silence, and then, before Springer leaves, Whirl blurts, in a manner that seems almost involuntary, “Roadbuster’s really going to want to see you. So...” He seems abashed, but goes on. “Be sure to go see him as soon as you can.”

Springer

> Roadbuster. Right. He’d have to stop by and see him. In fact, that's where he's going first. He looks around one last time. "Thanks," he says, but he looks at Whirl to continue, "I mean it." He waves a servo up above his shoulder at the others. "See you sometime, Prowl." And, well.
> 
> "Hope you get that fixed." To Soundwave.
> 
> "And, uh... hope you figure out those emotions." To Tarantulas.
> 
> And he's off.

Prowl

> A nod.
> 
> _Thanks_. That's enough for Prowl.

Soundwave

> Of course he's getting that fixed. He's getting that fixed as soon as he can. Which may take a few days. He's out of spares again. Damn it. Still, he'll take that.

Whirl

> Whirl simply bobs in the air. It’s an acknowledgement that Springer should be familiar with. In his alt mode, he’s even more inscrutable, so it’s anyone’s guess what’s going through his mind, or how he’s feeling.
> 
> He holds the vortex open long enough to see that Springer’s through, and then he dismisses it.

Prowl

> And as soon as it's shut, Prowl sighs wearily. "Mission accomplished."

Soundwave

> \\\FINALLY.\\\ Frenzy pulls his drills back in and shakes his hands out. All that explaining! How boring. \\\AIN'T THE WORST ONE I EVER BEEN ON, I GUESS.\\\

Tarantulas

> This is happening a lot quicker than Tarantulas thought it would - Springer's on his way out already? And Tarantulas hasn't even said a single _word_ to him yet, he should mention something, anything -
> 
> But then comes _'hope you figure out those emotions'_ and Springer's gone. Tarantulas doesn't even have a chance to say what those damned emotions ARE or why they're there, or - well, literally anything. He simply has to watch Springer walk through the bridge and disappear.
> 
> His hold on Prowl's hand remains tight, though it slightly shakes.

Prowl

> Tarantulas. Right. Prowl might have been content with one word of thanks, but Tarantulas—he'd been so desperate to speak to Springer. To tell Springer who he was.
> 
> Prowl turns to him and says, softly, "Thank you for showing such restraint. I think you hardly said a word to him." And he means it. Out of Tarantulas, it had been a very pleasant (and relieving) surprise.

Tarantulas

> Does Prowl want to kill him. Does he. Because, despite the softness of his tone, the words sink in deep like a knife buried in Tarantulas's chest.
> 
> "I - I - suppose you're welcome."
> 
> He lets go of Prowl's hand.

Whirl

> “Nah,” Whirl says. He hovers for a moment longer before shifting and landing in a crouch. "None of _us_ died, which is usually better than half of the missions I end up on going.” He stares at the spot where the vortex was for a moment, unsure how to feel. For a moment, in the heart of it all, he’d felt as if someone had poured his old self into him like you’d poor energon into a cube. But now...
> 
> Now, he doesn’t know how to feel, or what to say. It’s all done. The weight of it sits on him heavily, but it’s not necessary a bad weight. “Well,” he goes on, wryly, “I’m guessing I’ll probably hear from him sooner or later.”

Soundwave

> Well. That's over and done with. And Soundwave is one hundred percent ready to curl up on the scorched berth Springer had been on and pass out under a pile of snoozing minicons. Unfortunately, he has other, more pressing matters to take care of before he can do that.
> 
> He walks over to that matter and lets a feeler drift close to their face so he can see them, thinking. Ravage brushes up against his leg and quietly informs him that their name is Slingshot.
> 
> They can't trust Slingshot to keep quiet about all of this on his own. For once, Soundwave doesn't have enough to ensure they won't break their silence. But he can't kill them, either. He won't. That doesn't leave too many options, does it? Not ones he can say out loud. The others might know what he's planning deep down, but that's not the same as being comfortable with consciously confronting it.
> 
> [[Bring him,]] he says, trusting the four who aren't docked to herd Slingshot along without incident.
> 
> He turns toward Whirl then, and, approaching without a word, offers his hand in the same silence. Whirl trusted him more than he'd deserved, fought well in the hallway, and verbally protected him during Springer's jitters. A small shake and a sincere nod is the best thanks he can think of, for now.

Prowl

> Prowl glances tiredly at Soundwave and Whirl. He needs to say something to them—to thank them, to ask about Soundwave's face, probably more he can't think of—but right now? Right now, he only wants to get home and pass out.
> 
> He looks back at Tarantulas. "I'm going home."

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas's visor widened a fraction. "You're -"
> 
> Of course Prowl was going home. He wasn't even supposed to be here in the metal. (Primus, how long had it been since Tarantulas had actually touched him, up until the hand he'd just let go...)
> 
> "You - yes. V-very well. I'll have to stay behind though." A gesture around at the various tools scattered on boxes and floor.

Whirl

> Whirl doesn’t look away from the space where the bridge had been until he senses Soundwave drawing up, and he swivels his helm to regard him curiously. In another moment, Soundwave is offering his hand. Whirl stares at it for a moment before he reaches up, takes those spindly fingers carefully between the great curve of his claw, and shakes back. By this point, Soundwave’s more than earned that privilege.
> 
> It’s something of a solemn moment, but Whirl can’t help but be amused by Soundwave’s impromptu Sham-Wow! Veil. “I guess you  _can_ back those gladiator stories up,” he says at last, which is as much of an admission of mutual respect that Whirl can articulate at the moment. Prowl’s sudden announcement draws his attention back, and he releases Soundwave’s hand. He feels himself almost saying,  _Me too_ , but well…
> 
> Well.
> 
> He can leave, but he can’t necessarily go home again. “Sounds like a good idea. You all know how to reach me, if you need anything after this.” Part of him feels that there’s something more significant that he should say, but he can’t think of it, for the life of him, and nobody seems inclined to linger. If nobody else has anything to say to Whirl, he’ll shift right back again and open a bridge to Cybertron. “Don’t step through that, Prowl, it’s in the air,” he warns quickly.
> 
> And, with those poetic parting words, he glides forward through the portal, which shortly closes up after him.

Prowl

> Honestly, Prowl isn’t going “home” either. But he’s too tired to pull out anything but a stock phrase.  _I’m going home_  it is.
> 
> “… Right.” Prowl looked around them. What a mess. They can’t leave this here—if the Decepticons come to investigate why this base has gone silent and find all this here… “I’ll come back to help you clean.” Even if all he wanted to do was sleep.
> 
> After a moment of hesitation, he decides,  _screw it_ , and leans forward to nuzzle Tarantulas’s forehead. There’s no one here who doesn’t already expect that. He’d offer one to Soundwave, too, but there is a prisoner in the room, and the prisoner may have already seen Prowl holding hands with Tarantulas but he hasn’t seen Prowl showing affection to Soundwave, and Prowl plans to leave it that way.
> 
> Besides. Prowl doesn’t feel like walking over to Soundwave.
> 
> He does send Soundwave an affection ping, though. One, two, three.
> 
> After he draws back from Tarantulas, he trudges over to the box of solder and soldering irons he found earlier, picks it up—Hook’s been complaining about needing more solder, Prowl owes him this much—switches his shamwow projection from his projector to Tarantulas’s portable one, waits for Whirl’s bridge to shut, and opens up his own.
> 
> And he’s gone.

Soundwave

> Yes. Yes he can.
> 
> And now… nothing, he supposes. There’s nothing he wants to talk to Tarantulas about. None of the questions he has about Springer can be asked. Nothing he says will make up for Tarantulas being threatened by his own creation and left without conversation.
> 
> Soundwave looks at Prowl a little longer than he should, which probably amounts to the fact he’s looking at all. There’s a lot he’d like to say. He can’t shake the thought of that glow, or how useless he was then. He wants to pull Prowl close and feel the metal and the warmth, and damn the dirt, anyway. He wants to know if this is - if it’s made Prowl even the slightest bit happy to see Springer up and about.
> 
> But this moment isn’t his to borrow. Both creators will need time to process and talk, here or elsewhere, and he isn’t one of them. So he just watches Whirl and Prowl go, gives Tarantulas a nod as well, and pops open a bridge. They’re through in a hurry.
> 
> On the other side, he counts to three, has a small revelation, and sends the prisoner along with Rumble and the others. He’s gonna need a seat. And a nap. And maybe a little while to think about things he’s been trying not to think about. He can take care of the other problem after that.

Tarantulas

> “Help me - ? Ah.” In holomatter. Right.
> 
> Tarantulas is completely thrown by the forehelm-nuzzling. Affection? Here of all places, now of all times? It makes his spark seize for the hundredth time this mission, and in a sparkbeat he’s already forgiven Prowl for that knife and for leaving so soon.
> 
> If he had followed him instead of standing there wavering, Tarantulas would have gotten the box for Prowl - the mech just underwent a spark jump, for Primus’s sake - but by the time Tarantulas begins to protest, Prowl is already gone.
> 
> And Soundwave - Soundwave’s gone too, with a simple nod. Of course, there’s no reason for anything more.
> 
> Which leaves Tarantulas alone in the devastated lab, just one of the many scorched and shattered things left in the wake of their successful mission.


	62. Spring Cleaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl and Tarantulas try to find some closure in the cleanup.

Tarantulas

> It took quite some time before Tarantulas actually started cleaning up. At first all he could do was stare – stare at the spot where Prowl’s bridge had just closed up, then stare at the berth on which Springer had recently lain, then stare off at… well, nothing. He might as well have turned his optics off, for all that his visual input mattered.
> 
> Springer. Springer was awake. Alive – alive and kicking. Tarantulas brought a shaky paw to his neck where the nicked cable still stung – yes, definitely  _kicking_ , so to speak. Springer’s threat to his life had been the perfect cherry on top of this disaster of a mission, really.
> 
> Because that’s what this mission had been, yes. A disaster. Fixing the zero point had gone smoothly enough, but from then on it’d all gone spectacularly wrong. Spark failure, generator explosion, Decepticon attack, one thing after another. Although… somehow they’d all made it out of the mess alive, so – wait, Tarantulas should be happy, shouldn’t he? He should be  _overjoyed_. Elated. Springer – Ostaros – was awake! Alive! He was back. And yet…
> 
> Tarantulas’s visor fritzed out for a moment. He definitely was  _not_  elated. He was… spark-broken. Still riding the anxious, trembling high of a panicked catalycin surge, sure, but otherwise his spirits were at an all-time low.
> 
> Springer had attacked him, then… all but ignored him. He was simply the peculiar fuzzy one, the oddly  _emotional_  one, the strange neutral, definitely not to be trusted. Definitely not someone important to Springer. His scion had been  _so close_  to him, so close – and that connection – well… there  _was_  none. Springer had walked out without so much as a second glance in his direction.
> 
> And Tarantulas – he hadn’t done a thing about it. He’d just – just  _stood_  there, stunned silent, merely playing the part that he’d been painted as. The fuzzy,  _emotional_  neutral.
> 
> _“Hope you figure out those emotions.”_
> 
> Springer had no idea. Absolutely no idea.

Prowl

> Prowl had promised to come back to help Tarantulas clean. Those had been his words. “I’ll come back to help you clean.” No, he hadn’t said  _when_  he was going to come back, but… the implication was  _soon_.
> 
> This was not soon.
> 
> He could have come back as soon as he’d been stuck in the transport for the ride back to Starscream’s secret prison—punishment for either his brief escape or for his reluctance in telling Starscream why he’d done it, he couldn’t tell—but then he’d have had to interrupt his projection when he reached the prison, and that would have looked suspicious. He’d just have to rely on the probability that Starscream was going to stick him back in the same cell he’d been in before.
> 
> (And Starscream did, of course, melodramatist that he was. As Prowl had predicted—98% probability. And it was a good thing the 2% hadn’t won out; Prowl had chosen not to comm Tarantulas and warn him about his relocation because he was so certain he’d end up in the same cell. If he hadn’t, he would have been in one that had its comm contact with the outside world cut off—and Tarantulas wouldn’t have had any way to find out why Prowl had simply never come back.)
> 
> Still, though—it was far too late when Prowl’s avatar reappeared, and looked around for Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> Yes, it was far too late, but at least when Prowl reappeared it was still in the Decepticon lab instead of the Tor, and the surroundings were still about as intact as he’d left them. Tarantulas had been  _this_  close to setting fire to the lab - in fact, he’d already envisioned how it would go. He had plenty of leftover propex, so it was only a matter of dispensing it strategically amidst boxes and equipment, and then making sure there was time for him to escape before the remaining generators exploded and brought the whole building down. He’d even decided that when he left, he’d open the bridge behind himself and stumble backward into it, just so he could watch the explosions ripple out, and -
> 
> He shook his helm vigorously, his sudden laughter breaking the silence of the forsaken lab. No, nonono. Leave the dramatics to Starscream - that was too much, too farcical. Tarantulas may have desperately wanted the place to go up in flames, but he - he couldn’t. Shouldn’t. Prowl - what would Prowl think? What would  _Springer_  think - ?
> 
> Thank Primus Prowl showed up in time, before Tarantulas flipped and changed his mind again. His self-restraint was wearing mighty thin.
> 
> Prowl would find Tarantulas next to the berth they’d lain Springer on just hours ago. If he hadn’t been sitting back on his heels, Tarantulas would have given the appearance of kneeling at an altar - but no, he was too weak for that. The mission had left him exhausted in too many ways to enumerate.
> 
> The avatar’s reappearance made no noise, and Tarantulas’s many-limbed back was turned, so it would be up to Prowl to announce his presence.

Prowl

> … Was Tarantulas taking a break, or had he not even started?
> 
> Prowl looked around, scanning the room for removed and relocated objects. Well.  _Some_  progress had been made. Not enough, though.
> 
> “… So.” Prowl trudged his way over to Tarantulas, and sat next to him. “Where are we.”

Tarantulas

> Oh, Tarantulas had definitely started, but there was only so much he could do without Prowl, only so many tools to collect and pieces of equipment to move around. They’d said “clean,” but he hadn’t even been sure what that’d meant, really. He’d finished what he considered “his” part a good half hour ago.
> 
> Tarantulas startled when Prowl came into view, an odd shiver running through his frame. It was - he was here?  _Finally_? Or should Tarantulas question his sanity yet again, so soon after his last bout of self-doubt?
> 
> He tittered half-sparkedly, deciding not to question it just now. “Where  _are_  we, hmm? In space? Time? Relative geography? History? Our lives? Our sequence of intentions? You can’t just  _ask_  me an open-ended question like that, Prowl, you  _know_  that.”

Prowl

> Prowl might have been a little more enamored with the wild flight Tarantulas’s thoughts had gone on if he hadn’t been fairly sure that Tarantulas was trying to dodge the obvious question by making himself look smart. “Where are we in the progress of cleaning the room.”

Tarantulas

> Prowl ought to have expected Tarantulas to get philosophical on him - he’d left him alone with only his thoughts for too long. Tarantulas was hardly  _trying_ to look smart at this point.
> 
> A sigh and a shake of his helm. “I - I can’t be sure. I’ve done what  _I_  can. I was - waiting for you. To come tell me what to do.” Waiting, yes, and clinging desperately to Prowl’s promise not to leave him unexpectedly. He was infinitely relieved not to be let down.
> 
> His gaze lingered on Prowl’s face - his old avatar, not the battered visage with the burning blue optics Tarantulas had seen a couple hours ago. It was so much  _harder_  to read. He wanted the real one back.
> 
> “…What kept you?”

Prowl

> “Mm.” Fair enough. It took someone who knew how to examine a crime scene to know how to clean up a crime scene.
> 
> He shrugged. “The C—” And stopped. He’d almost  _automatically_  said that the Constructicons had needed something—just to avoid the questions, just to keep Tarantulas from worrying, just to make it easier. But he’d promised not to lie. He had  _no reason_  to lie.
> 
> “… Starscream was curious about my little disappearing act. I fed him some lies about why I left and how I got a bridge, and he’s calmed down.” He’s also thrown Prowl in jail, but harmless omissions weren’t lies. Starscream undoubtedly wanted to make a point and would let Prowl back out in a couple of days.

Tarantulas

> “He - do you think he actually  _believes_  you?” Nevermind what the lies actually were. It wouldn’t make any difference if Tarantulas knew. “You’re - you’re not in any trouble?”
> 
> Unnecessary concern for Prowl welled up in Tarantulas, and whatever paranoid thoughts he’d had while waiting faded into the background. That was one thing he could always count on - not Prowl himself, but… well. His feelings for Prowl. (Something tugged at the back of his mind. What  _was_ it…?)

Prowl

> “One of them, I’m sure he does. The other one, he’s questioning, but that’s because he’s naturally suspicious of other people’s motives. I’m confident he doesn’t suspect I was acting against  _him_ , so in a couple of days he’ll forget it ever happened.”
> 
> Prowl looked around the lab. Tarantulas had evidently cleaned up the obvious signs that they’d been here—the tools and equipment they’d brought themselves. But there was still plentiful forensic evidence remaining that could be used to build up a profile about these intruders: the fact that there was no sign of forced entry, the damage on the corpses that would let investigators identify the style and height of the weapons that had been used…
> 
> There was no way they could cover up this crime scene, and it would take them weeks to change it into one that  _looked_  like something else had happened. What a botched mess. What would other Decepticons do when they found this? An unprovoked attack on a Decepticon base that slaughtered everyone who’d lived there was definite grounds for retaliation; even if they didn’t know who had done it, they’d  _suspect_  the Autobots. How important was this base, what was the probability that a slaughter here might restart the war?

Tarantulas

> “If you’re confident about it, I suppose I shouldn’t worry.” …He’d still worry a little. But then again, Tarantulas had plenty of other things to occupy his mind now.
> 
> Cleaning up a crime scene wasn’t one of them. He didn’t even consider the setting a crime scene in the first place. He didn’t have any room in his head for outside perspectives right now, no room for contemplating corpses or destroyed equipment or trespassing, not with Prowl and Springer around like this. No, outside perspectives were always Prowl’s responsibility. That was what he brought to the table - one of the many things, really.
> 
> Listless and drained as Tarantulas was, he still fidgeted while he waited for Prowl to assess the room. Fidgeted for a while - and then gave up, leaning forward onto the medical berth and burying his face in his arms.

Prowl

> “Mm.”
> 
> Well, there was no way they were going to cover up this scene—all the dead bodies in the hall guaranteed that. (What a miserable, botched operation. If only Prowl had bridged the generator away…) The best they could do was stage the crime scene to make it look like something other than what it was, maybe make it look like a break-in rather than a bridge-in by going outside the base and blasting their way back in to the lab… But they couldn’t do that without also removing or modifying the camera feeds, which would make any Decepticon investigators realize that the intruders had something specific to hide…
> 
> Prowl watched wearily as Tarantulas buried his face in his arms. Yeah. That seemed about right. He sighed silently.

Tarantulas

> Prowl was free to join him, if he liked. Lean on him, even. Tarantulas certainly would appreciate the implied comfort and reassurance. Although to be honest, he’d rather know…
> 
> “…What now?” Tarantulas shifted, turning his helm. “Is there any chance you’d let me blow the place up, or is that asking too much?”

Prowl

> “I haven’t decided what now,” Prowl said. “No blowing up, though. If we blow this place up, we leave behind highly identifiable evidence from the bomb, as well as whatever evidence the bomb doesn’t destroy—and there  _will_  be evidence the bomb doesn’t destroy. A lot of it.” Prowl reached down and flicked a bit of generator shrapnel across the floor. “Besides, right now it looks like a pack of mechs broke into the lab, were discovered by the Decepticons, and slaughtered everyone here. That’s bad. We blow up the place, and it looks like someone heavily armed deliberately hunted down a Decepticon base and destroyed it. That’s worse.”
> 
> He got to his feet, crossed his arms, and looked critically around the room. What a mess. What a giant, stinking, potentially catastrophic political mess. “Unless you can bring a couple dozen mechs back from the dead, we can’t hide the fact that a crime took place here. Which means we have to conceal the  _details_  of the crime. No evidence that will link the Wreckers here—like Whirl’s claw marks or chips of Springer’s paint. No evidence that would link Soundwave—like blaster marks obviously angling up from knee-heigh shooters. No evidence that would link organics to the scene and cause the Decepticons to retaliate against the nearest Galactic Council worlds—like a single one of your setae. No evidence that would make them suspect the  _Lost Light_ —like the fact that there’s no evidence the intruders entered the base by any of the doors and apparently materialized in the middle of the lab, something that can only be done with an open-ended space bridge which only the  _Lost Light_  is known to have. And nothing that would make them suspect Autobot Spec Ops—like cleaning up the evidence so well they can’t figure out who did it.”
> 
> An irritable huff. “Maybe we can frame the DJD,” he muttered. “Hack their BC accounts, plant some comments that make it sound like their faith in the Cause was wavering…” If Prowl were still in contact with Dominus, it would be easy to contact him, tell him to go on a “solo mission” without the DJD to take out a pack of traitors, report back later he’d wiped out a base…
> 
> But he wasn’t in contact with Dominus. “Scrap. This is a disaster.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a heaving sigh when he was denied explosion rights. For a brief moment he’d gotten his hopes up there…
> 
> He was only half-listening as Prowl went on explaining the details and options - ultimately Prowl would come to a decision himself, and Tarantulas speaking up would only delay the process. Besides, he didn’t have the energy to think things through. Blowing things up would have been  _so_  much easier, really.
> 
> “You can say that again,” Tarantulas mumbled into his arms. He meant something wildly different than Prowl did, but the sentiment was similar enough.

Prowl

> “No matter what we do, there’s a frighteningly high probability that the Decepticons will conclude something we don’t want them to conclude. The only way to prevent that would be to  _un_ -kill all the Decepticons we killed. But that’s utterly…”
> 
> Prowl fell silent.
> 
> And looked at Tarantulas. “Do you know how to make quantum duplicates?”

Tarantulas

> “Quantum - ?” Tarantulas’s helm lifted slightly as he peered at Prowl. “I haven’t  _made_  any, no, but in theory… You’ll have to specify exactly what you mean first, I think.”

Prowl

> “It’s something that happened to the  _Lost Light_  in another universe—the quantum engines malfunctioned because someone was standing too close to them when they made a hop, and it made two copies of the ship across the galaxy from each other. The copies fused back into one when they got too close to each other, but—if we could do the same thing on  _purpose_ —find a universe where we didn’t slaughter this base, duplicate the Decepticons, drop them here without their noticing…
> 
> “Sure, they might eventually discover this isn’t their universe, but it’s become increasingly common for people to accidentally switch universes without noticing. The change will be blamed on inadequately understood cosmological phenomena. Nobody will look for a crime scene if they don’t think there is one.”

Tarantulas

> “ _Standing too close_? It - it had to be more than that.” Tarantulas rested his helm back on his arms, but seemed thoughtful, calculating. “That wouldn’t be unreasonable, I don’t think. I…”
> 
> Suddenly the implications of the situation began to unravel in his mind. If he could duplicate the Decepticons, he could duplicate just about  _anyone_. Would he end up duplicating  _himself_ in the process? Springer? Prowl? What would they do with the duplicates if they  _were_  created? Prowl wouldn’t like that in the least. What if Tarantulas took them and -
> 
> No. He could prevent that sort of thing. Better not to let his mind follow that path, wherever it might lead.
> 
> “I… could arrange that. I - I don’t know how soon, but I could do it.” He’d already worked with quantum entanglement plenty of times before; all it’d take would be tracking down a few details from the Lost Light, plus a few test duplications. It was doable. Definitely. At least that’s what he told himself. “…How would we set up the scene we drop them into, then?”

Prowl

> “The fact that he was standing too close to the engines meant that, when it started doing its… quantum stuff, his position relative to it was… slightly messed up. I don’t know all the science behind it. I  _do_  know that the end result was his corpse fused into the wall of the engine. I can assure you he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary  _except_  standing where he shouldn’t.”
> 
> Oh, don’t even bring up the possibilities of other duplicates. Prowl’s mind was already rolling through a million delicious possibilities, and ruling them out for being beyond even what  _he_  considered tolerable.
> 
> “It’ll  _have_  to be soon. Very soon. This base undoubtedly reports to other bases, and the Decepticons stationed here are active on the B.C. I don’t know how long they can be incommunicado without other Decepticons getting suspicious. I’ll have to ask the Constructicons.” It might have already been too late. But it would  _definitely_  be too late if they didn’t get working fast. “We set up the scene so that it’s as though nothing’s changed. We want them to be able to slip into their alternates’ routines without noticing a thing. We dispose of the corpses, we lock up this room again, we meticulously clean up every speck of evidence we can. That will mean finding a way to drop them here without their noticing—perhaps dropping them through during their recharge. If you think there will be some sort of jolt that would stir them from their recharge, we can—I don’t know—arrange a meteor strike or an earthquake or something, so they’ll blame it on that. And an earthquake or meteor would also explain why the items in  _this_  base are in slightly different positions than the one they left them in in  _their_  base. But, of course, if we can get them through  _without_  a jolt and  _without_  stirring them from their recharge, that would be preferable…”
> 
> What all was Prowl going to need to do to clean up this crime scene properly? He started looking over it again. Much easier if they were going to hide it completely rather than disguise it as something else.

Tarantulas

> “How long do I have? Are we talking hours, days?” Give him a deadline, Prowl - Tarantulas always worked best under pressure. “If - I - don’t want to leave you here, but if it’s too soon, do you think you could clean up on your own?
> 
> “Personally I’d want to intervene during recharge - I’m guessing that if I have the right coordinates, I could even have our half of the duplicates appear  _here_  in their respective quarters. Easier to arrange than to have them materialize halfway across their universe. Though - I’m sure they took shifts. We’ll have to optimize.”

Prowl

> “I don’t  _know_  yet. I just said I don’t know, I have to ask the Constructicons. We might already be too late and another base is on the way to find out why everyone stopped answering their comms. I’ll tell you as soon as I know.” He was already on another comm line, trying to contact one of them. “Of course I can clean up on my own.” And probably do a more thorough job of it than Tarantulas.
> 
> “Yes,  _obviously_  we want them to appear here in their respective quarters. That’s the whole point. We can’t have them thinking they’re in their base, and then randomly teleported elsewhere, and then back in their base. Make this as seamless as possible.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas huffed weakly. “I was angling for a  _guess_ , but I’ll wait. And I meant - it’s not  _easy_  to orchestrate such a thing, thank you very much. Transuniversal travel entwined with quantum duplication - and I don’t even know how to do the latter yet - it’s -”
> 
> It was lot to ask of him  _right now_ , was what it was. He’d just pulled off a huge project involving his adopted creation of all mechs, and he was expected to jump right back into the deep end of the scientific fray?
> 
> It was no use getting frustrated at Prowl right now, though, Tarantulas reminded himself. He had no idea what Prowl was thinking - he  _had_  been one of Springer’s creators too, after all - and Tarantulas just didn’t have the energy. 
> 
> He just wanted to sit. And think. And feel. Maybe he could do science in a bit, but not now, not with Springer on his processor. (And Prowl, too. The tugging at the back of Tarantulas’s mind had started again. Prowl had  _said_  something, hadn’t he?)

Prowl

> “I don’t have a guess. It could be anything from ‘four days’ to ‘an hour ago.’”
> 
> He focused on Tarantulas again. “You can pull it off,” he said. “Not  _immediately_ , of course. And I’ll get you as much time as I can. But you can pull it off. Especially now that you’re not working…”
> 
> A moment of silence.
> 
> “… working on a more pressing project.”
> 
> They were done with Springer. Their schedules were free. They could work on  _anything they wanted_.

Tarantulas

> Well, maybe Prowl’s schedule was free. Tarantulas’s wasn’t - well, it  _wouldn’t_ be, if a “schedule” actually existed in the first place. That didn’t mean he couldn’t find time to fit something else in though, so technically the sky was the limit.
> 
> Before he could say anything, a different thought smacked him over the helm. He - he  _remembered_. He remembered what Prowl had said, the thing that’d been bothering him just now. He remembered, and it made his spark spasm in his chest, made his visor suddenly glow.
> 
> Apropos of what would seem like nothing, Tarantulas sat up and stared at Prowl, as if he were truly seeing him for the first time. He stuttered for a moment before he finally got it out.
> 
> “ _I - I love you too._ ”

Prowl

> On the verge of saying something else to Tarantulas, Prowl froze, mouth half open, and stared at him.
> 
> And stared.
> 
> And then abruptly looked away. “Yes—I mean—well—Obviously.” NO. WRONG. ABORT ABORT ABORT. “… Thanks.” Better. Good enough? Was it good enough. Prowl didn’t know if it was good enough. Where’s his head. Keep looking at the wall.

Tarantulas

> Prowl could look at the wall all he wanted, but Tarantulas would keep his gaze resolutely on Prowl. There was a moment of surreal silence as he held his paws hovering just above his lap, but soon he was clambering to his pedes and closing the distance between them.
> 
> “No, thank  _you_.” Paws came to rest on Prowl’s shoulders, simply holding him there as Tarantulas stared and stared. “That - that wasn’t a dream, was it? You really  _did_  say that?”

Prowl

> Ohhh boy it was a lot harder to avoid looking at Tarantulas from here. Prowl redirected his gaze under Tarantulas’s armpit toward the floor.
> 
> He nodded once.

Tarantulas

> Another moment of silence as Tarantulas processed that. Or, well - not so much ‘processed’ as ‘waited until his brain module started functioning again.’
> 
> “Did you -  _mean_  it? Or was it just - ?”

Prowl

> Prowl, very slightly, winced.
> 
> And then nodded again.

Tarantulas

> “Th-that doesn’t clarify - I asked two questions, what am I even saying - I shouldn’t -” Tarantulas laughed breathlessly at himself, shook his helm, looked away. This was just as much a mess as the mission had been, but an elated mess. A trembling, nervous, disbelieving one - but still definitely elated.
> 
> His gaze flickered back. “Can I - can I hear it again? Or - I shouldn’t put you on the spot like this, s-so soon, this is awful of me, I - h-hyeh…”

Prowl

> “ _Yes!_ ” (no no no he sounded too harsh, dial it back,) “I meant it.” (And now it was too  _soft_. Dammit, Prowl.)
> 
> He shook his head. “No. It’s… no. It’s—not good.” Then quickly added, “ _You’re_  not not good. I’m—my, trying to say—it’s… You’re fine.”

Tarantulas

> Too soft, too loud - didn’t matter. Tarantulas heard it, and that was what mattered.
> 
> Leaning in, he dimmed his visor and rested his mandibles against the crest of Prowl’s helm. There. Now Prowl wouldn’t have to worry about looking at him anymore. Maybe, just maybe, that’d help Prowl say those three words just one more time.
> 
> “I suppose, if it’s too difficult - you needn’t worry. I heard it the first time, I simply can’t… not that I don’t  _believe_  you, it’s just it’s been…” A shaky sigh. “…You’ve no idea, Prowl. H-how glad I am. How much I… I longed to hear that. And how deeply -” How painfully deeply, “- your affections are returned. And - on today, of all days. After all  _this_ …”

Prowl

> Well,  _now_  he couldn’t look anywhere without seeing Tarantulas’s hairy chest. He turned off his optics, and uncrossed his arms so they wouldn’t be pushing into Tarantulas’s abdomen.
> 
> “I’m bad at saying it,” he warned. “I might not say it again. But, I—can show you other ways.” As he always had.
> 
> He wanted to nod in agreement, but that might dislodge Tarantulas’s mandibles. “… I know.” After all this…
> 
> He wrapped his arms around Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> “You said it perfectly clearly the first time,” Tarantulas hummed softly. “I’m - more than happy with that - with any efforts, any other ways.” Although he really would like to hear those three words more than once in his life, but - they’d get there eventually. …He hoped.
> 
> Tarantulas reciprocated the arms Prowl wrapped around him, his own fuzzy paws hooking into the kibble of Prowl’s back. Unlike other times, it wasn’t a tight or desperate embrace - it was sweet, tender, if a little tremulous.
> 
> “After all this…” Tarantulas repeated quietly. “With - with Springer. Our…” He hesitated to put words to it - he wasn’t sure what Prowl was comfortable with, after all. “H-he’s alive, conscious, and I just wish - if I could - I have so many things to say to him as well, but…”

Prowl

> “I don’t mean bad at pronouncing the words.”
> 
> More than happy, Tarantulas said. Many of Prowl’s prior partners had said that. A majority of them had genuinely believed it. A majority of them had been wrong. Prowl didn’t say anything. Now wasn’t the moment for it.
> 
> “Mm. He’s alive. And safe. Safer than he’s ever been.” Prowl’s back kibble shifted and twitched under Tarantulas’s claws, giving him an easier place to grip. “I know he's—not what you wanted him to become. Not what I would have wanted for him either. But, he’s a good mech. One of the best. You should know that.”

Tarantulas

> “I know.” A slight nuzzle to Prowl’s helm. Tarantulas would be patient. He’d waited millennia for this moment in the first place; he could wait a few more for the next one.
> 
> _Not what you wanted him to become_. No, no Springer wasn’t. Tarantulas barely knew him at this point, but he could already tell - this wasn’t Ostaros, not anymore. His spark twisted in its chamber, shying away from the truth.
> 
> “A - a good mech,” Tarantulas repeated, digging his paws in just a little. “You should - sometime, you should tell me more about him. I should - I  _can_  - talk to him as well, but to hear it from you, it’s… different.” To hear it from someone who  _knew_. Who’d known all along, who’d watched Ostaros transform into Springer, seen him grow into what he was today.

Prowl

> “All right. I will.” Not now, though. Now was about Tarantulas.
> 
> … And about cleaning the lab. “The Constructicons say some kind of strange radation from this system’s sun blocks long-distance communications at this base during the daytime. From now, we’ve got four and a half days—Cybertronian days, obviously—until it’s out of the sun and people will be expecting to hear from this base.”

Tarantulas

> The sudden switch in topics caught Tarantulas off-guard, but he recovered quickly enough. “A hundred hours…?” Hmm. Could he do it? He  _had_  to do it. But could he  _guarantee_ he’d finish research on duplication by then?
> 
> Well, he’d promised not to lie, so… for the sake of not accidentally doing so, Tarantulas said nothing.

Prowl

> Well, if Tarantulas wasn’t going to say anything, then Prowl would be the proactive one. “What do you need in order to pull that off?”

Tarantulas

> A deep circulation of his vents. “For the initial research - nothing I don’t already have. For the practical side of things, for the final tests… as much information as possible on the mechs we’ll be replacing. And some samples. I - might as well take the bodies and process them myself, for that matter.” If Prowl would let him, of course.

Prowl

> Prowl turned his face sideways against Tarantulas’s chest so he could glance over at the door. Through it, the corpses.
> 
> “… Remove their comm units first,” Prowl said. “Record their frequencies, and then destroy them. And remove and destroy anything else that could be used to remotely track them before moving them. None of this works if the Decepticons somehow detect that one of the mechs that’s supposed to be at this base is in some inaccessible pocket dimension. And when you’re done with the bodies, completely destroy them. I’m talking melting them down into their base components.”
> 
> He tightened his embrace for just a moment, then let go and stepped back. “Leave the holomatter projector here, I’ll take over cleaning the evidence.”

Tarantulas

> Good, good. “That, I can do. I might not be able to dispose of them until after everything is said and done, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”
> 
> As loath as Tarantulas was to let Prowl go, he loosened his hold anyhow. “We… might as well go ahead and get started, oughtn’t we. There isn’t much time.”

Prowl

> “Yes, we should.”
> 
> Prowl looked around the room again.
> 
> Then turned back to Tarantulas, wrapped his hands around his face, and pulled him down into a kiss.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas startled for a moment before acquiescing - not that he didn’t  _want_  the kiss, just wasn’t expecting it. Leaning into the pull, he gently pressed his mandibles against Prowl’s lips… then gave in entirely, wrapping his arms around and clutching Prowl close.
> 
> He  _needed_  this. He hadn’t known it, but he sorely, sorely needed this. 

Prowl

> Prowl wrapped his arms around Tarantulas’s shoulders, pulling him down and into the kiss.
> 
> Well, Tarantulas, you wanted Prowl to say  _I love you_  again, didn’t you? Here it is.

Tarantulas

> Down Tarantulas went - a little further than he thought he needed to, but then again, this was Prowl’s shorter avatar, not his actual frame. Tarantulas held his mandibles against Prowl’s lips for a while, then nipped, pulled back, and came in for another kiss. (Was that a little bit of tongue sneaking out from between mandibles, maybe?)

Prowl

> That might have been because Prowl was leaning back to pull Tarantulas farther.
> 
> He nipped at the tongue—but then went no farther, and didn’t reciprocate. They had work they had to do. They couldn’t afford to drop everything and—and do this.
> 
> He reluctantly tipped his head back from Tarantulas’s.

Tarantulas

> They couldn’t afford to do this, no, but they were doing it anyway. For a  _little_ while, at least. Long enough for Tarantulas to nudge another kiss against Prowl’s lips before straightening back up and brightening his visor again. Blame Prowl if it burned more golden than it usually did.
> 
> “I’ll be - down the hall.” Tarantulas slowly, painfully, let go of Prowl. “Collecting comms and trackers. Call if you need me…?”

Prowl

> If Tarantulas had decided to keep his grip on Prowl and refuse to let him pull back, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure he would have convinced himself to object. His optics also glowed a brighter blue.
> 
> “Right.” He straightened himself up and looked at the floor. “I’ll be cleaning. Do you have any supplies, or…?” He supposed he could find a janitor’s closet to forage in if he had to.

Tarantulas

> No, Prowl had taught Tarantulas a  _modicum_  of moderation by now. There were things - distasteful but necessary - to be done. And even though Tarantulas would’ve loved to linger with Prowl, he… he had a lot of thinking to do, too.
> 
> “Whatever you need.”  _Anything_ you need, Prowl. Anything at all, always. “I have - I can acquire it.” He didn’t have the time to explain how his double-ended subspace worked - just trust him on this one.

Prowl

> “Okay, well, whatever you have on hand.” Prowl wasn’t asking Tarantulas to go rob a cleaning supply store, just give over whatever he’d been using before Prowl showed up.

Tarantulas

> “I -  _literally_. Mostly. Any laboratory supplies, at least.” Tarantulas started pulling various chemicals and cleaning implements from his subspace just to prove it. He’d stop once Prowl told him he’d dragged out enough.

Prowl

> Ah. Yes. That was a fair amount. “That’s fine, I can work with that. Do you have a—trash bag, or disposal dimension, or something?”

Tarantulas

> “Hyeh, not  _quite_  a dimension. Use the projector to make a holomatter bag of your liking and I’ll have you bring it to me afterward for disposal.”

Prowl

> Prowl stared at Tarantulas as if he’d asked him to whip up a 3D model of Cyberutopia. “Just— _make_  a bag? Just like that? But…”
> 
> He trailed off, glanced around the mess remaining in the room with a grim frown, and said, uncertainly, “… All right.”

Tarantulas

> A snort from Tarantulas, and he pinged him basic specs. “No need to look at me like that, dear. You  _did_  ask for a trash bag. But, if you need something larger - do you have a subspace you could use?” Another ping with a subspace link that he was  _fairly_  sure was empty. “…I might as well use it too, so if you can’t access it, hyeh. That’ll be me.”
> 
> A step back, but still, Tarantulas couldn’t help but hesitate.

Prowl

> Prowl took the specs for the bag, but then saved it. If Tarantulas was offering a subspace pocket, that was better; unlike the bag, a subspace pocket wouldn’t disappear and dump its trash back on the floor when Prowl’s avatar disappeared. “No, I don’t have a subspace. Can I open it with a space bridge?” The coordinates seemed similar enough. “… You wouldn’t happen to know how to explain in under a minute how to open a space bridge portal that  _isn’t_ thirty feet across, would you?” It seemed a little excessive for throwing away used wash rags.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas quirked his visor confusedly - Prowl didn’t know how to use a subspace? “It’s - yes, you can use a bridge, but - can’t you just change the diameter in the command?”
> 
> …Did Prowl not know  _where_  to find the number to change? Rubbing his face for a moment, Tarantulas skimmed through subspace commands, highlighted the input slot for diameter, and then pinged it over to Prowl with a  _hyeh_. There you go - no minute-long explanation necessary.

Prowl

> He knew how to use subspace. But the only tech on him that utilized it was his comm unit for long-distance transmissions. It wasn’t like he carried around a subspace hatch, what would he do with it?
> 
> “Where in the—?” Oh. There in the command. What, it was that easy? Why hadn’t Soundwave told Prowl about it? “Thanks.”

Tarantulas

> Subspaces have many, many uses, one of which happens to be disposal for crime-scene cleanup. See?
> 
> “You’re quite welcome. Is there anything else you require…?” Anything that’d keep Tarantulas in Prowl’s presence?

Prowl

> “Not at the moment.” He headed toward the crates they’d disrupted. First things first, start cleaning the miscellanea that the explosion had scattered around… “I’ll let you know.”

Tarantulas

> A nod. Tarantulas hovered for a moment, wavering, stalling… then headed off for the hallway. They’d already had their kiss goodbye, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A cute little illustration](http://78.media.tumblr.com/a9c155f2821ca68c1f5e673fd756858b/tumblr_inline_ov8f2dkN4J1urujbv_500.png).


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four days pass.

Tarantulas

> Alright, it’s settled - find alternates for the ‘Cons they killed, duplicate them into this universe, and hope for the best. All Tarantulas has to do now is figure out  _how_  to create quantum duplicates in the first place. Great.
> 
> For the next four days, Tarantulas will be virtually MIA - no comms, no visits, no nothing. All you’ll get if you try to contact him is static; seems like he forgot to set a prerecorded message.

Prowl

> Inside his jail cell, inside his head, Prowl is quiet. For the first time in months, it’s quiet.
> 
> For months, he’s had words pounding in his head, day and night.
> 
> Whirl’s words, cutting him off from the only future he could ever see for himself: “ _And as long as I’m being honest—I think you’d let yourself be a bad cop, if you think you needed to_.”
> 
> Starscream’s words, taunting him for not reaching for that now unobtainable future: “ _Then when this city is crippled by a terrorist attack that you didn’t lead? It will be on your head._ ”
> 
> His own words, cutting himself apart with guilt: “ _In moments of crisis, people do not rise to the occasion. They fall back to their level of training_.”
> 
> But right now, they were all silenced by one word. Just one word.
> 
> “ _Thanks_.”
> 
> It was a reminder. When Prowl was under pressure—when there was a life-or-death decision on the line, even when the life wasn’t his— _especially_ when the life wasn’t his—when he didn’t have time to calculate everything, when he only had possibilities without probabilities—the decision he defaulted to— _every time_ —was to put himself on the line to save a life.
> 
> Every time.
> 
> His panic response was to save lives.
> 
> If that was what was at his core—if that was who he was…
> 
> Maybe Whirl was wrong. Maybe the war hadn’t changed Prowl. Maybe not even Devastator had changed Prowl. Maybe those were all just layers of dirt burying him. Maybe the person he’d been before the war was still locked up, in that same coffin in his spark where he kept his guilt and regrets, like hope at the bottom of Pandora’s box.
> 
> Maybe he could still dig it back out.
> 
> * * *
> 
> In the end, Starscream only kept Prowl in a cell for three days before, without fanfare, Prowl was shipped back to his more familiar prison.
> 
> It made little difference. There was nothing he needed back in the apartment. If anything, being back in a cell was preferable—it meant no work shifts where he was expected to do tasks he was never built for, no useless sessions with Metroplex, no nothing but sleep.
> 
> … Or attempted sleep, at least.
> 
> And to be honest, once he walked back into his apartment-prison, sleep was probably exactly what he was going to—
> 
> “Prowl!” “PROWL!” “You’re back!” “Are you okay?” “Did they feed ya?” “Your dent is fixed!” “They didn’t torture you, did they?” “How are you?”
> 
> Prowl stopped dead, staring dully at the Constructicons. What was this, where had this come from? He mattered to them again?
> 
> The Constructicons’ worried babbling trailed off, and they hovered in front of Prowl, watching him nervously, waiting for him to react.
> 
> Prowl stepped toward the nearest of them, wrapped his arms around him, and pressed his forehead to his chest. That was the only signal they needed to swarm around Prowl, embracing him from every side, practically crushing him between them.
> 
> Under their excited babbling and shouting, Prowl mumbled a long-overdue apology. He didn’t know if they heard him, but they did squeeze tighter around him.
> 
> * * *
> 
> “Hey Prowl?” The Constructicons were capitalizing on their brief reunion yesterday to try to edge their way back into regular communications with Prowl.
> 
> They felt like they only had a small window to work with. After they’d hugged it out yesterday, Prowl had been vague and distant at work—he’d probably only grunted two words to any of them all day. Maybe their window had already closed completely. But they had to make an attempt.
> 
> Which was why Hook and Mixmaster were in Prowl’s room, trying to get his attention.
> 
> … And apparently they had to try again. “Uh… Prowl?”
> 
> “Hm?” He didn’t look up from his datapad (what was he even looking at? was that video paused?) but his head did twitch slightly, which they supposed was as much of a reaction as they were going to get from him.
> 
> “We uh, got somethin’ for you,” Hook said. Mixmaster threw in, “Somethin’ you’ll like.” “Yeah! Hopefully. Think you will.”
> 
> Silence. Then, “Hm.”
> 
> They glanced at each other; was he even listening? But Hook soldiered on. “So, we uh, tracked down the program used in Bombshell’s” (Prowl whipped around to face them so quickly, with such ferocity, that Hook momentarily forgot what he was going to say), “… Bombshell’s, uh… his probe thingies—”
> 
> “His cerebro-shells?”
> 
> “Yeah! Yeah, that’s the word for them,” Hook said. Mixmaster nodded enthusiastically. (They both ignored the way fear flickered in Prowl’s optics, and his hand dropped his datapad to dig into the back of his neck.) “Anyway, we got his programs—all of them, the one he runs, the ones that the cerebro-shells run, the one that gets downloaded in the target’s—”
> 
> “ _Why?!_ ”
> 
> They both winced. Mixmaster meekly took over, “To… to give ‘em to  _you_ , Prowl.”
> 
> Prowl stared at them, uncomprehending.
> 
> Hook said, “We figured if you had the programs, you could… you know… figure out how they work? Maybe make a firewall so they can’t get in your head again.”
> 
> “Or something to make it backfire,” Mixmaster said, “so  _you’d_  control  _Bombshell_.”
> 
> Prowl stared for a moment longer. Then rushed across the room so quickly they almost flinched back from him; he was in front of them, optics blazing, before his datapad had clattered to the floor.
> 
> But then he was still, and simply held his hand out. Waiting. They ignored that it was trembling as Hook dropped the dataslug into Prowl’s palm.
> 
> He curled his fingers around it tightly. For a moment, so tightly that they feared he was going to crush it. But then he nodded. “Thank you.”
> 
> “… Yeah.” “Sure thing, Prowl.”
> 
> Then he was heading back to his berth, scooped his datapad off the floor, plugged the dataslug in, and sat down to read.
> 
> Hook and Mixmaster hovered in the doorway for a moment; but when Prowl didn’t acknowledge them again, they turned and left. They’d done what they could.
> 
> They hoped it helped.
> 
> * * *
> 
> It helped.
> 
> * * *
> 
> For the first time in nearly three months, as the Constructicons got settled down to sleep, Prowl came down the stairs.
> 
> Their pre-sleep chatter cut off as Prowl stopped on the bottom step. The Constructicons stared at him. He stared at anything but the Constructicons.
> 
> “… Hey.”
> 
> “Hi.”
> 
> They stared a moment longer. Prowl shifted uncomfortably and, hesitantly, lowered one foot to the floor.
> 
> The Constructicons parted, giving him an open spot in the middle of their pile.
> 
> Prowl hadn’t even reached it before they were tugging him down and pulling his panels open.
> 
> * * *
> 
> They only get wired deep enough into Prowl’s systems to see his current fuel level before they unplug, shove him into Long Haul’s arms to cradle him for warmth, and huddle around him as Bonecrusher runs to the kitchen for an energon cube.
> 
> All protests that he’s not cold and he’s got enough fuel to get him to work tomorrow are ignored.
> 
> * * *
> 
> The Constructicons have noticed that, for the first time in months, Prowl isn’t curled up with nothing but a datapad on his berth in the far corner of the far room. He’s back out on the mezzanine, at his desk, hard at work on his computer. They’re still worried—very worried—they’ve been back inside his mind, they know how horribly dark it’s gotten in there—but being out at his desk is a good sign. Maybe he’s feeling a little better. Maybe their gift helped.
> 
> It  _did_  help.
> 
> Since he received it, Prowl’s dedicated every spare moment to tearing the coding apart, trying to figure out how Bombshell’s programs work. How they communicate with each other, what turns them on and off, what lets them get through mental defenses.
> 
> The coding is actually very simple— _extremely_  simple,  _brilliantly_  simple—simple enough that even without help Prowl can pick a fair amount of it apart. Not enough to understand more than a tiny fraction, just the basic gist of how it’s structured… but enough to feel like he’s got just a little bit of control over the program. A little bit of control over the weapon Bombshell used against Prowl’s mind. A little bit of control over what happened to him.
> 
> It’s not very much. Not yet. But it’s a start.
> 
> And it’s the least helpless he’s felt in years.

Tarantulas

> _Done_.  **Done**. Tarantulas is done with that hideous marathon of a research session, finally. The quantum duplication itself went off without a hitch, with all the newly created ‘Cons settled instantaneously in their respective posts. The scientist’s work is done. Done done done.
> 
> …Sounds like a good time for a  _drink_. Or two. Or seven.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas gets royally drunk again; Prowl tolerates him.

Tarantulas

> «PROWL. Prrrrowlllllll. I’m  _DRUNK_.»

Prowl

> «You don’t say.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _do_  say. I just DID say.» A snort-giggle. «I’m -  _so_  drunk, Prowl. I’m sorry but I just couldn’t  _help_  -  hic  - I  _had_  to call you. I just - I  _like_ talking to you far too much to not, and I’m  _unoccupied_  now that - Ost - Spr -
> 
> «…You know what, enough about ME, how about YOU.»

Prowl

> «Springer,» Prowl helpfully supplied.
> 
> How about Prowl? Well.  _Well_. He certainly wasn’t telling Tarantulas all the exciting news he’d received recently. Divert the question sideways. «I’d been  _intending_  to contact you soon to get started on some new projects—but I suppose that would be ill-advised in your current state, wouldn’t it.»

Tarantulas

> « _New_  projects…? N-not that I  _couldn’t_  start a new project right now, I ABSOLUTELY could, but - I  _just_  did finish what sssshould have been a year-long research project in four days.  _Four days_ , Prowl. And you want -  hic  - you want to jump right back into things  _just like that_? You don’t think - you don’t think I deserve a - a TINY  _reprieve_?»

Prowl

> «Yes, so you did.» And that was  _damn_  attractive. «I’m not proposing  _starting_ anything— _especially_  not while you’re inebriated. Just brainstorming. But, if you need a break that badly…» 

Tarantulas

> A pause, and then a thin whine. Tarantulas really thought he did deserve a break, but this was Prowl on his comms offering to talk science with him…
> 
> «I  _could…._  maybe if I… if it’s  _just_  brainstorming…» Tarantulas shifted restlessly, unseen. «Diiiid you have something  _particular_  in mind?» 

Prowl

> Oh, by all means, Prowl thought that Tarantulas  _deserved_  a break. But Prowl also thought that Tarantulas  _preferred_  to have Prowl giving him interesting new things to think about.
> 
> A short laugh. «I’ve had a list of particulars since the day you showed up in my cell. Are you  _looking_  for something in particular?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had started drinking to  _avoid_  precisely that - thinking about things. But ‘things’ was more along the lines of ‘Springer’, not ‘speculative science’, so…
> 
> «Of - of  _course_  you have. Hhhhhmmmm… particulars…» Tarantulas gave a thoughtful purr, tapping his chin absentmindedly. «Maybe an  _intangible_  project. Not a  _physical construction_. Something -  hic  - maybe coding. I don’t know.  _Anything_. Anything anything anything, really.»

Prowl

> «Hmm. I have a coding project I need done. A virus.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh  _really_?» A virus specifically, a malicious little bug, not just any old sort of program. Definitely Tarantulas’s kind of thing. «You - you ought’ve told me  _sooner_ , that’s something sssurely I could have worked with on the side. What specifics, hmmn?» 

Prowl

> «No, that was part of our original deal: Springer first, then everything else.»
> 
> And out of all the everything else he’d been waiting on, this was the one he’d been most impatient to reach. «I think you’ll appreciate the intricacy this project requires. The virus will live inside a host’s brain module indefinitely, and benignly—completely inactive. It will activate under only one circumstance: if the host’s brain module is pierced by mnemosurgical needles.
> 
> «At that point, it will transfer through the needles to the mnemosurgeon and activate. It will prevent the mnemosurgeon from performing whatever surgery he pierced the host brain module for, and completely delete all the knowledge—medical training, motor memory, whatever—that he would need to ever perform mnemosurgery again. Ideally, it will also cripple his ability to ever  _relearn_  mnemosurgery. And then it will once again become dormant and benign in the new host’s mind, while leaving behind no way to reconstruct and repair the data it deleted.
> 
> «I’ve spoken with one virus specialist who thinks it’s doable; but it seems he’s dropped the project. Perhaps it was beyond his skills. The project’s yours if you want it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas hummed as Prowl went on, doing his best to listen attentively. «Why the interest in - in  _mnemosurgery_?  **Anti** -mnemosurgery. Whatever. And - who was the virus specialist? Sssomeone I know?
> 
> «The virus itself…» Some quiet arrhythmic drumming of spider paws. «Details - it  _solely_  interferes with mnemosurgery abilities? Leaving the new host otherwise un -  hic -  _unaffected_?» 

Prowl

> A moment of silence, as he contemplated how much it was safe to tell Tarantulas—and how much he wanted Tarantulas to know. «… That’s something to discuss when you’re sober.» It would give time for Prowl to pick and choose which parts of the story to share.
> 
> « _Ideally_ , it solely eradicates mnemosurgery abilities. If you can’t completely destroy that without some collateral damage… let me know. And we’ll discuss how much is acceptable.»

Tarantulas

> A whine from Tarantulas. «But that might be a whiiiiile. I… I actually don’t know  _how_  long, come to think of it. I didn’t calculate the -» And off he went muttering about the molarity of the concentrated obtenteum something something.
> 
> Eventually he did come back round to the subject at hand. «Oh, nothing’ll ever be  _perfect_ , there has to be SOME collateral damage somewhere, but - we can  _pick and choose_  where we want that to end up, hyeh.
> 
> «Do you - d’you think - how  _untraceable_  do you want it to be? How…  _embedded_? How  _invasive_? Any consequences u-upon attempted viral purging?» Ooh wow - Tarantulas was impressing himself with how articulate he was still managing to sound. Or, well, at least how he thought he sounded.

Prowl

> «Do you mean traced back to the creator, or just located inside the brain? If it’s the former, obviously, do what’s needed to disguise your own involvement; and if it’s the latter, low priority. And how embedded it is is of low priority, too. It’s most likely that the hosts will be volunteers who know they’re carrying the virus, so hiding the virus from the host matters very little; and I don’t expect the virus to get beyond one, ideally two mnemosurgeons—the one who first unwittingly pierces a volunteer, and maybe a second one who pierces the first to try to see what’s gone wrong in his head. But the odds are good they won’t be even that foolish.  There’s no reason for the virus to be any less invasive than mnemosurgery itself. And if the virus is coded right, it won’t matter if it’s removed, because it will already have done the irreversible damage needed.»

Tarantulas

> «Why - why  _wouldn’t_  they be that foolish? Would they just -  _stop_? What d’you mean?» Tarantulas fumbled with more words for a moment before they tumbled forth. «You’re vvvvery  _specific_  about this. Like, this - this obviously won’t be a  _widespread_  virus. Which is -  hic  - the  _antithesis_  of what a virus IS. What it’s meant to  _do_. To replicate itself. I think you mmmmight be asking for just a piece of general  _malware_  which I guess is all just semantics but it’s - it’s IMPORTANT. The difference. It’s important. For my work.»

Prowl

> «Because, in general, you have to be more intelligent than the average person to complete the training to become a mnemosurgeon. And people with abundant experience in breaking into brains probably have basic protocol in place to avoid catching viruses—or, malware, I suppose—from their targets. Like not sticking their fingers directly into the head somebody who just suffered a catastrophic psychological phenomenon immediately after sticking their fingers directly into someone’s head.»
> 
> Prowl snorted. Of course he was very specific. He knew exactly what he needed and intended to see it done. Had there ever been a time when his requests  _hadn’t_  been specific, except for those very rare assignments when he knew what he wanted done but not how?
> 
> «No, it won’t be widespread virus—mainly because the target pool is incredibly small. There are very, very few mnemosurgeons left, so the infection and transmission rate will be extremely low simply because the number of people that can be affected by it is small. So—yes, I suppose “malware” is more accurate.»

Tarantulas

> «Just because you’re  _intelligent_  doesn’t mean you c-can’t be  _haphazardly curious_ , or - or, I don’t know,  _conceited_  enough to think you’d be invulnerable to this-or-that-or-whatever?» Oh, the irony. «But that wasn’t the ONLY thing I was getting at. The… the malware. Wouldn’t you want - if someone else got their  _nasty_ claws on it, not through mnemosurgery, but OTHER means - wouldn’t you want to  _consider_ that? Y’see what I mean?» 
> 
> Oh nono, Prowl, that wasn’t what Tarantulas meant by ‘specific’. «How many mnemosurgeons ARE there left? And, are there - I just get the sense that - hhhhow can I put it…» He literally looked like he was grasping at straws on his end of the commlink. « _Aha_. I get the sense that there’s a PURPOSE for this. As in, I could be tailoring this for you even MORE, if I knew. Is it - for  _you_ , this virus? Or is it for  _eeeveryone_?  _Anyone_? Does it HAVE to be a program? Is it - like, if I were to make a  _patch_ or  _shield_ that melted mnemosurgery needles - is it preventative, or does it have to  _fight back_? D’you want me to just make the virus so we can infect mechs  _preemptively_? What if -»

Prowl

> «And all that is why there’s a  _chance_  the virus—sorry, malware—can pass farther than the first victim. A chance, but not a high enough probability to constitute a guarantee.» … Right, Prowl had just lost Tarantulas «Consider  _which_  thing, now?»
> 
> How many mnemosurgeons  _were_  there left? Chromedome; Trepan; Sunder and his brother were potentially still on the run somewhere, with Froid in tow (and Prowl desperately hoped they’d killed each other off by now); Cerebros, although he at least wasn’t a threat; if Chromedome or Trepan were currently or had formerly worked with the Decepticons, there was a chance that some of  _them_  had been trained… «Classified. But very few.»
> 
> Prowl snorted; of course there was a purpose. There was always a purpose. «It will be used by several people—of my choice—who are most at risk of mnemosurgical attack. That list of people is classified.» Since it would be possible to extrapolate backwards from there to figure out who was the  _source_  of that risk. «It purpose is twofold: one, to protect potential victims from mnemosurgical attack; and two, to immediately and permanently cripple any mnemosurgeon who attacks someone he shouldn’t. The virus doesn’t need to be preemptive—mnemosurgeons don’t need to be punished for actions they haven’t taken. But it does need to make sure that if they  _do_  take actions they shouldn’t, the victim is protected  _and_  the perpetrator is punished. I don’t want to just make sure that the victim is safe. I want to make sure that a transgressor mnemosurgeon will never, ever be able to touch anyone else again.»

Tarantulas

> «Consider - like, what you want to happen if - if someone  _extracts_  it. If - do you not care if  _sssomeone else_  has it? Intact, the malware? To use, to manipu -  hic  - manipulate. You know, THAT kind of thing. And if you DO care then what should we  _do_  about it.» 
> 
> A huff on the other end of the line. «Why is everything always CLASSIFIED. Classified  _this_  classified  _that_. Give me a roundabout estimate? Of  _both_ , I mean - mnemos and hosts. It’s  _relevant_.» Kind of, not really.
> 
> «Then I don’t see why a  _melting shield_ \- ooooohhhhhh. Neeevermind. Yes, malware’s better. Just -  _harder_. More fiddly to construct. Not that I’m not UP to the challenge, it’s just - no need to overexert. Elegance over -  hic  -  _excess_.»

Prowl

> «A good idea, of course; but I’ve been given to understand that it’s nigh on impossible to make an unreplicable program without sacrificing the integrity of the program itself. Can you find a way around that? I suppose it’s possible to make it self-deleting once it’s done its work, but that would prevent it from being able to be passed on to subsequent mnemosurgeons; and that wouldn’t do anything about the fact that the hosts will have to carry it around intact…»
> 
> Prowl huffed. «Because I’m a high ranking Autobot with ties to spec ops and you’re a civilian. Tell me why the estimates are relevant and maybe I’ll tell you what they are.» Maybe.
> 
> «Of course. But in this case, malware is definitely the most elegant.»

Tarantulas

> «I didn’t say we had to make it  _unreplicable_ , jjjust - maybe, see, if I knew the HOSTS then I could program it to… to…» Well, there goes that train of thought. « _Something_. I could do sssomething. I don’t know. My brain module feels  _fuzzy_.» 
> 
> Tarantulas huffed right back at Prowl. «The estimates are  _relevant_  because I want to KNOW, that’s why. And it probably - probably’ll help me write the virus in the first place if I know more about the intended hosts and targets. But  _fffine_ , be that way.  _Data tease_.»

Prowl

> «Explain why it’s so important when you’re sober enough to make your point properly, and maybe I’ll believe you.»

Tarantulas

> «You don’t  _understand_ , I want to know NOW, but I don’t want to be SOBER now. You should just tell meeee.» The sounds of stumbling in the background. «Besides, I’m most  _cr-creative_  when I’m  _out of sorts_. In ONE way or another.»
> 
> Knowing hosts and targets wasn’t really important to him anymore so much as the fact that Prowl was withholding information from him, and Tarantulas was bound and determined to get a hold of it, simply on principle.

Prowl

> «Well, Tarantulas, the fact that you want it does not mean you automatically deserve to receive it. You’ll receive it later or not at all.» Prowl tried not to wince at the stumbling sounds. Please don’t let him smack his organic parts on anything.
> 
> «Anyway, I’m not asking you to be creative right now. This is a brainstorming session, not a green light to go start work.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _always_  deserve  _everything_.» Tarantulas stated this very matter-of-factly. «And how does brainstorming  _nnnot_  mean creativeness? Creativity. Whatever. That’s the POINT of brainstorming.» 

Prowl

> «Actual creativity means inventing. You’re not inventing anything until you’re sober. Besides, the rule about dangerous projects applies here. ‘Before agreeing to do anything illegal, dangerous, or potentially harmful to anyone or anything, we will spend two full days apart to contemplate the idea.’ That means you can’t get started anyway.»

Tarantulas

> That prompted an actual whine from Tarantulas. «That’s  _dumb_. Why did I agree to that. The first -  hic  - first forty-eight hours are probably the most  _inspirational_ , I bet.» A bit of petulant pouting, then Tarantulas added: «Besides, I need a  _distraction_.»

Prowl

> «You agreed because I’m not going to work with you if we don’t keep that rule. And  _be_  inspired, if you want. But don’t get to work.»

Tarantulas

> « _Oh_.» Well, that made sense.
> 
> «Maybe I need… something ELSE, then, if you’re not going to let me work on  _this_  one. I don’t even  _remember_  what I was working on before - before all  _this_.» Ugh. For some reason, Tarantulas just couldn’t. He couldn’t say his name, not right now.

Prowl

> «What—before this conversation? From the sound of it, you were working on getting sloshed.»

Tarantulas

> «Nnnnonono, I’m still working on that.» Just because you can’t hear him drinking doesn’t mean he isn’t still imbibing. «I meant -  _Ostaros_. THAT fiasco.» 
> 
> Some pitiful mumbling came afterward, something about “the  _emotional_ one” and “doesn’t even know” and “can’t believe - he barely  _survived_ ” mumble mumble - until a sudden clatter, followed by the sound of metal on metal as Tarantulas’s knees hit the floor.
> 
> Oh  _Primus_. Oh dear Primus. Tarantulas couldn’t bear the thought that’d suddenly struck him.

Prowl

> «I can’t help you on that. Before we were working on Springer, we hadn’t met yet. Unless it’s one of the projects you mentioned to me, I don’t know what you were—»
> 
> What was that noise? «Tarantulas? Are you alright?» Did he fall over? Did he run into something?

Tarantulas

> It was a few moments before Tarantulas spoke up again, his vocals now strangely high and thin. «I-I - it’s nothing. I’m - fine.» Lies, of course. Physically he might be alright, but…
> 
> Springer had barely survived the surgeries a few days ago, and Tarantulas had just realized - it was  _all his fault_. The mere spark augmentation hadn’t been enough, that much was apparent. Springer  _had_  needed more than just an amped-up spark to survive the process - and Hook had warned him of that. Maybe involving a dark matter fission cell had been a ludicrous idea, but still, in essence,  _Hook had been right_. And Tarantulas had almost lost Springer because he’d ignored him. Almost lost Ostaros.  _Again_.
> 
> Curling forward over his knees, Tarantulas turtled up. Oh please, it hurt his addled processor to think about.
> 
> «…I’m - fine. Quite alright.» Quick, shift the focus onto Prowl. «I - never did ask, how are  _you_? And w-what’re you up to?» 

Prowl

> Give Prowl ten seconds to analyze that tone of voice. «… You’re  _not_  fine. What happened? Are you damaged? I heard that crash. What did you hurt?»

Tarantulas

> «I - didn’t hurt anything, I  _promise_. I just  _s-stumbled_ , that’s all.» True enough… but then again, Tarantulas really couldn’t keep quiet about anything, especially when his processor functioning was impaired. It was only a matter of time before he spoke his mind. Maybe he could prevent it entirely if he removed the opportunity? «…I have to go, Prowl, I’m -  hic  - sorry.»

Prowl

> Highest probabilities: either Tarantulas was lying, or he’d broken something. «Fine. Clean up whatever it is you damaged.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _didn’t_  damage  _anything_.» It would have sounded indignant if his voice hadn’t been wavering. «I just - I h-have to go.» 
> 
> Primus, he didn’t want to say goodbye. He’d really much rather have Prowl come over and hold him until the stabbing pain of guilt eased up a little, or at least until he fell into recharge to escape it. But no - he didn’t deserve the comfort, and Prowl didn’t need to know. Prowl  _couldn’t_  know. Tarantulas couldn’t drunkenly let slip how he’d narrowly avoided a catastrophe that he himself had set them up for. How he’d almost killed Springer.
> 
> Might as well get in a last whisper before he hung up. «…I-I love you.  _I’m sorry_.» Then the line went dead.

Prowl

> Shaking voice, stuttering, repeated insistence that nothing was damaged despite the fact that Prowl had heard a crash, no explanation for why he was hanging up, professions of devotion and an apology immediately before the abrupt hang up.
> 
> All of that added up to something  _far_  more catastrophic than what Tarantulas would like Prowl to believe. « _Tarantulas!_ »
> 
> No good, he’d already hung up. Prowl immediately started comming him again,  _ping ping ping pingpingping—_  If Tarantulas had done something stupid and was about to blow up his lab, Prowl didn’t want a dismissive brush-off “I love you,” he wanted to help  _prevent_  the explosion.

Tarantulas

> Blame Tarantulas for making mountains out of molehills - only  _he_ would make a self-induced guilt trip seem like a laboratory about to go up in flames.
> 
> At first he forced himself to ignore Prowl, but eventually the pinging was just too much. Should he block off the commline entirely? No, that seemed a ltitle extreme for the situation. Instead he came back on the line for just a split second.
> 
> «Prowl - I -  _please_  just  _leavemealoneee_.» 

Prowl

> «Can you honestly promise me that whatever it is that just happened you aren’t harmed about to be harmed or at risk of being harmed?» Because if the answer was “no,” Prowl was sending his avatar to Tarantulas’s base immediately.

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a minute to process that. Prowl’s sudden concern didn’t make sense to him - although nothing really ‘made sense’ to him at the moment, so that didn’t mean much.
> 
> «Nnnnwell, no, but I mean -  _yes_? No more risk than I’m  _usually_  in.» 

Prowl

> That was a more honest-sounding answer than Prowl had anticipated. «… All right.» He didn’t have to worry about a catastrophic lab accident. But all that meant was he didn’t know what he  _did_  have to worry about. «I’ll leave you alone.»

Tarantulas

> A relieved sigh on Tarantulas’s end, and a tiny « _Thank you_.» He waited a second to see if Prowl had any more to say - then he let the line drop again.

Prowl

> He didn’t.
> 
> But in the back of his mind he was going to worry until he heard from Tarantulas again.


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas needs a break from a certain topic; he and Prowl end up doing the exact opposite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous inquires sparked a series of IC questions about, well, eggs. Cue Prowl chiming in, although with good intent.
> 
> Eggstremely **Mature** content. Just so you know.

Prowl

> «I'm here to offer you a conversation that has absolutely nothing at all to do with eggs.» Prowl's noticed the recent wave of people—well—egging Tarantulas on. «... Unless you want it to do with eggs. You get first choice of topic.»

Tarantulas

> Oh Primus on a pogo stick. Now Prowl was in on this too?
> 
> Maybe that wasn’t such an awful thing though. Of all people he might _actually_ want to talk to about it…
> 
> «Let’s just say that the subject isn’t off the table entirely, but I’d _very_ much appreciate if you came at it with a modicum more tact than everyone else has so far. If not, then - well. Hyeh. I’d politely request you forget I even mentioned it.»

Prowl

> «Tact isn’t my strong suit. Anyway, I’m not here because I want to get in on the topic; I’m here because I suspect you want to get out of it. I am offering an exit.» 

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas took a long, long time to consider that.
> 
> «…Maybe tact isn’t  _necessarily_ required. And maybe you’re not entirely correct in your suspicions.» He’d leave it at that.

Prowl

> «Oh? If you don’t want to talk, I can go.»

Tarantulas

> «That is absolutely NOT what I meant! I don’t even know where you got the notion from, I didn’t even -
> 
> «Yes, of  _course_  I want to talk. I always want to talk. I was simply insinuating that maybe it’s not so much the  _subject_  I’d like an exit from, so much as the  _conversation partners_  - i.e. maybe I’d rather not share details concerning oviposition with complete strangers, but as I said, it’s not off the table for  _US_.» 

Prowl

> «You said my suspicions weren’t correct. I thought it more probable you meant I was wrong thinking you’d want my help. If you  _want_  to talk about it, I’m fine with that.»

Tarantulas

> Whew, OK, misunderstanding cleared up. «Hmmm… Maybe I ought not be so coy about things this time, it made for a fairly  _frustrating_  conversation last time the subject came up. So, yes, I’d be interested. I wouldn’t even know where to begin, though. It’s a rather… expansive subject.» He’d restrained himself from making a pun, just barely.

Prowl

> «Yes. It did.» Prowl  _nearly_  managed to sound emphatic.
> 
> «I wouldn’t know where to start either. You have far more knowledge on the subject than I do, and you know what topics are off-limits.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas squirmed for a moment. It was so much easier to respond to an intently curious and questioning Prowl than a vaguely interested one. What should he even  _say_ …
> 
> «I - forget what you already know. A little bit about my anatomy, surely, and about my personal inclinations?» Tarantulas made himself purr - maybe if he acted confident he’d feel that way too. «If I recall correctly, you seemed  _mystified_  that I was discomfited by talking about eggs. Suffice to say, I think we’re at a point that discussing them - and by that, I mean oviposition, not simply eggs in a general sense - isn’t so much a problem anymore. So - am I correct in assuming you don’t know much about the kink itself, or…?»

Prowl

> «That you’re capable of laying eggs, and that something somehow involving eggs in some context is sexually arousing. And that you’re from one of those universes where talking about interfacing is embarrassing. That’s about all I got sorted out.» And that itself took far too much time.
> 
> Oviposition? Ovi-position? Egg position? The positions of eggs? «Never heard of it. I’ve been meaning to put research into the egg thing, but I was starting to doubt you’d ever be willing to broach the topic with me, so it was low on my list of priorities.»

Tarantulas

> «I don’t know if I’m glad or not you’ve not heard of it.» A small snicker. «Does that mean I’ll be a sort of  _ambassador_ , then? What an honor, truly.
> 
> «A cursory search on oviposition will tell you it’s precisely what we’ve been talking about - literally, it’s just the process of  _laying eggs_. The term can be taken in a more salacious sense when one refers to the deriving of sexual pleasure from the process, whether giving or receiving. I suppose just about any sexual practice that has to do with eggs would fall under the term ‘ovi’ as well - at least, it’s  _used_  that way. Persons invested in the kink don’t seem picky about terminology.
> 
> «And, hyeh. As you’ve deduced, it happens to be one of my not-so-guilty pleasures. I  _am_  outfitted for such play, although I’ll have to admit the mods aren’t quite  _finished_  yet. But oh, they’re certainly functional. I just haven’t put the cherry on top, so to speak.»

Prowl

> Prowl wasn’t certain that telling someone about a new kink was qualifications for ambassadorship, but he wasn’t going to argue when Tarantulas was finally talking about the interest he’d been so ashamed to share with Prowl. (Distantly, Prowl wished he could bring himself to care a little more.)
> 
> «Huh.» Okay. Simple enough so far. «What’s the appeal of it? The physical sensation of an ovoid object moving through one’s valve? Or is there more to it than the obvious?»

Tarantulas

> What was an ambassador but someone who, at least in the moment, served as a representative for a larger group? Tarantulas was giving the position the respect it duly deserved, that’s all.
> 
> «It doesn’t even have to be ovoid, really. Spider’s eggs are generally spherical, to be frank. But the physical sensation - yyyes, I’d hesitantly say that’s the gist, although the psychological aspect of it is variably important to some as well. The act of laying, or of being laden -» OK, whew. Tarantulas had to get up and start walking around now just to burn off a little steam. Nervous energy, right? Right. «Well. I suppose it could be symbolic. Or simply a good time, depending. Hyeh.»

Prowl

> «Psychological? What’s the appeal of laying or… ‘being laden’? I take it that means currently having eggs inside you?»
> 
> Maybe there wasn’t an appeal beyond “it’s arousing, I don’t know why”; plenty of other kinks were like that. But Prowl certainly had to ask.

Tarantulas

> «Yes, that’s what I meant by the term, although it’s probably not the most accurate turn of phrase. Hyeh. The appeal, though - it can often be an act of dominance and/or submission in myriad contexts, or something along the lines of a breeding kink if the eggs are fertilized before or during the process. There’s something  _else_  to it, though, that I - I’m not sure I can describe. Of course, beyond that, the simple physical sensation on both ends… is  _quite_ something in and of itself, to be sure.» Definitely pacing now, yep, and feeling a tad overheated.

Prowl

> «… Breeding is a kink? I mean—of course breeding is a kink, everything is a kink. But—breeding is a kink?» You learn something new every day.
> 
> «How do dominance and submission play into it?»

Tarantulas

> An amused huff. How much did Prowl  _not_  know? «Yes, yes it is. It’s particularly focused on sexual interaction as means for reproduction, which, I’m sure you can imagine how that could be involved.
> 
> «And goodness, where  _isn’t_  there a factor of D/s in kinks? It’s fairly straightforward - the, err. There isn’t really a word for it, but the recipient, I suppose, is rendering themselves vulnerable in the process and potential consequences of the oviposition, and the one laying the eggs therefore possesses a sense of power over them, and control over the situation. That’s not  _exactly_  it, because it wanders into the territory of oviposition blending in with other kinks that aren’t fundamental to the base definition, but - you get the gist.
> 
> «…Now that I say it, the breeding kink and the vulnerability of the recipient post-oviposition could certainly feed into a resultant pregnancy fetish, but oviposition doesn’t always lead to gestation periods, not in the least.» 
> 
> Whew. Well, at least talking about ovi in a more analytical and clinical fashion was helping Tarantulas keep a bit of distance from the subject, but it didn’t completely negate the…  _effects_  of talking about it all.

Prowl

> Breeding kinks don’t come up very often in a race incapable of breeding. «… I can imagine in a hypothetical sense. I suppose that might be something that falls under the xenophilia umbrella.» There is nothing, in the slightest, in Prowl’s brain that connects “interfacing” to “new life,” and if he hadn’t spent so much time on alien worlds he’d be completely baffled by the suggested connection.
> 
> «I mean—of course D/s can be incorporated into near any other kink. I was wondering about the specific of the dynamic.» A moment of puzzled silence, and then, «There’s a  _recipient?_  I thought it was just laying eggs.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, most certainly, with respect to Cybertronian attraction. Which, hyeh. I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear about from me.» Or would he? Tarantulas didn’t know how much Prowl knew or assumed about him, really. For all he knew, Prowl might assume Tarantulas had only ever been to Earth and cared little about other species beyond a select few. Well, then.
> 
> «Well, there certainly doesn’t HAVE to be. But with respect to D/s, I’ve never heard of the existence of a two-sided dynamic within a single being, sssso that does generally imply a recipient. Oviposition itself doesn’t rely on having one though, no.»

Prowl

> «No, I’m not.» He had a hard time imagining someone being turned on by alien methods of reproduction  _without_  being turned on by aliens themselves.
> 
> «How does a recipient even participate in an egg-laying process. Do they… catch the egg, or…?»

Tarantulas

> An initial snicker at Prowl’s lack of surprise - and then a bit more yet about the last bit, with an incredulous tinge to it. «I - hyeheh, I suppose one  _could_ , but most of the time they’re having the eggs inserted  _into them_. Ovipositors are meant to  _penetrate_ things, see.» A bit of thought, and then: «Your confusion does make sense though. Most Cybertronians don’t have any sort of tank or accommodations for accepting and holding eggs in the first place, it’s true.» 

Prowl

> Prowl tried to process that. «… What?» He tried again. «……  _What?_ » He’ll get there. «Wait. So. You lay the eggs…  _into_  someone else’s body? Doesn’t that—aren’t eggs supposed to come  _out?_ »
> 
> He tried to think whether he’d seen any aliens that did the same thing. «… Is it like xenomorphs?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t sure if he would die of amusement or embarrassment first. «They  _do_ , they do, but many species’ eggs require an incubation period that involves being  _inside_ another organism. They - hyeh. Rest assured, they come out eventually. Personally, I -» Can robots cough? Tarantulas just made a noise reminiscent of one, at least. «- I  _do_  have the capacity to oviposit into others. But I don’t necessarily _have_  to, either. And at least in my case, it’s patently  _not_  like xenomorphs.»

Prowl

> «… Why can’t they just stay inside the first organism? I’d think that would be safer than transferring it to a second organism?» 
> 
> Huff. «I should hope it’s at least not as fatal as xenomorphs.»

Tarantulas

> «Safer, maybe, but more stressful for the first organism, and likely not the correct environment with the correct incubation resources, for one thing. It - it really depends. And on occasion, it’s simply  _engineered_  that way.» Hint hint.
> 
> « ** _No_** , nonono, not at all. It’s - the evolutionary concept of oviposition is generally to foster  _life_ , not promote fatalities. Xenomorphs are  _parasitic_.»

Prowl

> « _Most_  species can’t deliberately engineer their own fetish-fueling sexual equipment. The equipment comes first and then they have to learn to find it arousing.» Which was an odd concept, but hey. Evolution itself was odd.
> 
> «I was joking, Tarantulas. I know.»

Tarantulas

> Now it was Tarantulas’s turn to huff. « _Joking_? I never can tell with you… If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you might even be making  _fun_  of me, but you’re - you’re not wrong about the evolutionary process. With the exception that the equipment is usually inherently arousing due to the way it was evolved over time, so species don’t have to  _learn_  to be aroused, they merely learn how to pleasure themselves with what they have. 
> 
> «As far as  _my_  case goes, one might say I’m merely - hyeh - taking evolution into my own paws, as it were.» 

Prowl

> «Joking, specifically, about hoping that the process is less fatal. If it wasn’t less fatal I’m  _fairly_  certain you wouldn’t be doing it.» Although, with Tarantulas, he wasn’t entirely sure.
> 
> «Evolutionarily “learn,” I mean. Since evolution would select against members of the species that don’t enjoy their own reproductive equipment, correct?» Something like that. «Tarantulas, you did not evolve, you designed yourself and you know it.»

Tarantulas

> An amused huff at Prowl’s use of “ _fairly_.” Tarantulas let it lie, though. The statement wasn’t important enough to confirm or deny at the moment.
> 
> «Ah, I see. Yes, that’s one way it  _could_ work, though it doesn’t always. And - hyeh, I  _know_ , I know. It was metaphorical, Prowl dear… with mmmaybe a dash of innuendo added for extra flavor.»

Prowl

> Baffled silence. «… Is evolution typically an innuendo-laced topic?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas couldn’t help but outright laugh for a second. « _No_ nono, not typically, but I - here, I could lay it out for you if you’d like, loathe as I am to ruin the fun.»

Prowl

> «Please do.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeh. Well then - you’ve only to deduce what it is that evolution’s produced that I’ve taken into my own paws, literally and figuratively, something that would conventionally be incorporated into an innuendo - given that innuendos do tend to be sexual, of course. I  _do_ hope it makes more sense now?»

Prowl

> «What, that you’ve “evolved” your array? I didn’t think that was innuendo, I thought that was the blatantly obvious subject of the conversation.»

Tarantulas

> «Nono, I’ve done no such thing - I’ve merely taken what the universe has kindly evolved already and creatively fashioned my own version of it. Then, to put it more overtly, the implication was that I’d put paws on my array in less surgical and more salacious ways. THAT was the gist of the innuendo.»

Prowl

> «Oh. Masturbation. Got it. That’s the part I didn’t pick up.»

Tarantulas

> «See, but I put it so much less  _bluntly_  and elegantly disguised it in a bit of wordplay. I like my version much better.»

Prowl

> «Well. Fine for you, but it was too disguised for me to get it. What’s wrong with blunt?»

Tarantulas

> «There’s nothing  _wrong_  with bluntness. It’s just a matter of preference. Why state the lone fact when you can dress it up according to taste? Besides, innuendo adds a layer of distance to it, and Primus knows you’re familiar enough with my displays of discomfort to know that’d appeal to me.»

Prowl

> «… Because when you dress it up it becomes harder to understand?» Obviously. But, if it was a matter of discomfort, «Fine. Just—meet me in the middle.»

Tarantulas

> «I  _suppose_  I can do that.» Tarantulas’s visor quirked, amused but unseen. «Tangent resolved then, I should hope. I’m curious if you have any questions regarding our  _original subject_ , however…?»

Prowl

> «Right. Yes.» He took a moment to try to think up other questions. «So. You derive sexual satisfaction from inserting eggs inside a partner. Is that correct? Do you also derive satisfaction from the—process of laying, or being laden, or the thought or act of breeding? Or were you merely offering those as examples of things that other people may find appealing?»

Tarantulas

> Hearing Prowl vocalize everything Tarantulas had suggested was - well. It didn’t help him cool off any, to say the least. He continued pacing to blow off a bit of steam, so to speak.
> 
> «I do hope you won’t  _judge_ me if I claim  _all of the above_ , hyeh.»

Prowl

> «I’ve seen weirder.» Although a kink for breeding was definitely in the top five. But… now he has to wonder. He doesn’t want to. But he has to. «… Was making Ostaros a breeding kink thing?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas spluttered a bit before he could find his words. «No, nonono, not at all, I promise. That isn't even - it's the thought of procreation in the sense that - that - I don't even really know _how_ to explain it. It's a concept that was entirely foreign to me before, err. Encountering certain other species.»

Prowl

> Oh, good. He wasn't quite sure how he would have processed a revelation that Ostaros was created in pursuit of sexual gratification. «Earth species? Or other aliens?»

Tarantulas

> «Other aliens, hyeh. I didn't make it to Earth until fairly recently, mind you. But of course, humans have their own take on it and related subjects.»

Prowl

> «Any that I should look into if I want a greater comprehension of how this whole spectrum of kinks works?»

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to process that. Prowl was interested in reading up on Tarantulas's kinks? Did that mean he was potentially keen on helping fulfill a few of Tarantulas's fantasies? Oh Primus. It seemed almost too good to be true.
> 
> «Let me - let me get back to you on that. I'm sure there's _plenty_ of content of different cultures I could get my claws on.» In other words, Tarantulas wanted time to sift through and make sure what he directed Prowl toward was accurate and not potentially too scandalous.

Prowl

> «Very well.» He's patient, and he's not going anywhere or doing anything useful any time soon. He can wait for research materials.
> 
> «So, how would a potential partner participate? By just... laying back and receiving the eggs, or...?» Does that answer your unspoken questions, Tarantulas? «I'm not terribly keen on surgical alterations, if that's going to be necessary—but it might be easy in holomatter.»
> 
> He'd try almost anything once. Cautiously.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas had to hold back a whine. Yes, that definitely did answer his questions, and then some.
> 
> «Hyeh, that's _one_ way to do it, although I'd generally prefer something more interactive. Hmmn...» A moment of thought. «Surgical alterations would be necessary for you to retain the eggs, but not simply to mess around with them, so to speak. Holoform _does_ sound like the perfect answer to most difficulties, though - and I'd be _more_ than happy to modify a few designs for you.» The weight of arousal in Tarantulas's vocals was almost tangible at this point.

Prowl

> Good whine? Sounded like a good whine. Okay. Good. Prowl was on the right track.
> 
> «If we did pursue the holomatter route, even at that I'd only be able to retain the eggs for a few hours at a time—and probably wouldn't be able to produce the proper internal environment to... do whatever is necessary to turn eggs into viable living beings. But, if that's acceptable to you, then that's certainly something we can look into. You know the basic anatomy of my frame type; you can design arrays that would fit into that frame and I could substitute them for my current array.
> 
> «Don't go overboard, though. A simple design to see how it goes first would be ideal. It wouldn't make sense to create a bunch of elaborate designs and only then test them out and discover I find the whole process particularly unpleasant.»

Tarantulas

> There was an actual whine this time, combined with a sheepish laugh. «Hyeh, but what if I _want_ to make elaborate designs, simply for fun? Besides, I'm certain I could make it pleasurable for you, Prowl, I've _plenty_ of expertise on the subject of relevant modifications.»
> 
> That wasn't really addressing the whole "viable living beings" problem, but they'd deal with that in time - Tarantulas was _sure_ of it. He _might_ have plans...

Prowl

> «Well, far be it for I to get in the way of your hobbies. But my concerns about pleasure come from the psychological aspects, not the physical. With proper limits, I don't anticipate any immediate discomfort or displeasure from the experience of getting eggs slid in my valve—but it's occasionally hard to predict what the experience itself will be like before actually—er... experiencing it.»

Tarantulas

> If Prowl had been about to emphasize a pun there, Tarantulas was eggstremely grateful he hadn't.
> 
> «I adore the way you say " _slid_ " - it makes it sound so _easy_ , hyeheh.» A purr. «I understand, though. In the end, all we can do is give it a try, don't you think?»

Prowl

> «... Is there a more accurate verb? "Shoved"?» Right, okay, so now he's expecting a previously-unemphasized degree of painplay to this process. «Indeed. We won't know without trying.»

Tarantulas

> «Nono, maybe... "squeezed"? Or slid, but with a sort of resistance? The pressure certainly isn't _necessary_ , but you wouldn't get quite as much out of the process without the stimulation.»

Prowl

> «"Squeezed," then.» Honestly, in holomatter, he probably wasn't going to get a whole lot out of the process anyway, other than Tarantulas's pleasure. But that alone was a more than adequate reward.

Tarantulas

> Oh no, Prowl - just you wait and see. Oviposition upgrades would come after a few other higher-priority fixes.
> 
> A low hum from Tarantulas. «Yes... although, you know - _your_ modifications would only be half of the fun. You haven't seen _mine_ in action yet, have you? We really ought to fix that.»

Prowl

> «Only the parts of your array that you've shown me. And certainly not in any action that involves the production or distribution of eggs.»

Tarantulas

> «I wish -» A whine. «I wish I _could_ show you _everything_ , but I'm not currently incubating. Although in the not-so-distant future, I _could_ be, if you'd like...»

Prowl

> «I can't say my schedule is terribly full right now.» Or any time, at all, preferably forever. «You know when my work hours and movie nights are.»

Tarantulas

> Hfff. Tarantulas couldn't possibly imagine coming to movie night with an abdomen full of eggs, no way. Best to avoid that if he could.
> 
> «Well then, we ought to set up a _demonstration date_ sometime. I'll let you know. In the meantime though...» A suggestive purr. «I wouldn't mind if you came over anyway, you know. I _may_ have built up some charge during our conversation, and I certainly wouldn't turn down a bit of help dispersing it, should you be interested.»

Prowl

> «... Oh.» Yes. Right. He would have, wouldn't he. That makes absolutely perfect sense. And it would take a socially inept buffoon to not realize that the logical consequence of talking to someone about his kinks is that he's probably going to become aroused by the conversation. That makes sense, doesn't it.
> 
> «I've, er. Got work in twenty minutes.» A pause. «That's not necessarily a no, if you're willing to rush. Otherwise—well. You know when I get off work.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas took a quick moment to weigh the pros and cons and came away from it with a disappointed whine. (Lots of whining today, it seemed.)
> 
> «I really _would_ rather have more time, if you came in person... What if you stayed on the line with me instead, hmm?»

Prowl

> «... I can't come in person. Before or after work.» Or ever. Tarantulas knew that. «But I'll be more than happy to stay on the line.»

Tarantulas

> «Your avatar, silly.» Tarantulas mentally handwaved away the misunderstanding. «But if that's the case...»
> 
> Prowl would be able to hear Tarantulas's panels retract almost instantly. Someone's eager, it sounded like.

Prowl

> «Ah. Well, if you consider my avatar to be "in person"—»
> 
> Oh. Yes. That was a familiar sound. A very good familiar sound. «... I'll be over shortly. Immediately.»
> 
> He ended the comm.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a snicker. He would have settled for staying on the line, but if Prowl truly insisted...
> 
> Twenty minutes, then. A hungry, electrifying twenty minutes – never enough of course, but definitely a fantastic way to finish off the conversation.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's the classic family flick, _Honey, I Shrunk the Tarantula!_

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s recklessness means occasionally accidentally getting injured around the lab - it’s just part of the job description when you’re a mad scientist. While doing some complex detailing work on Windchill’s gun, Tarantulas ended up tuning the resonant frequency of the tool he was using  _precisely_  to the same frequency his mass shifting tech works at. 
> 
> The alert popped up on his HUD immediately - MASS SHIFTING DISABLED.
> 
> Tarantulas hasn’t stopped cursing since.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Eventually Tarantulas stops cursing long enough to run some diagnostics. Results: the damage is certainly repairable… but only with mech-scaled tools that a roughly human-sized Tarantulas certainly won’t be able to use.  _Scrap_.
> 
> Technically surgery isn’t the ONLY way to repair the mass shifting mechanisms - Tarantulas’s nanites will take care of the job for him, but estimates project it’ll take nearly a week before he can safely size himself back up again.
> 
> Sounds like he’s gotta settle in and get comfy for a while, then.
> 
> * * *
> 
> It didn’t take long for Tarantulas to realize that, at his current diminutive size, he was incapable of manipulating the majority of his lab equipment. He couldn’t even really use his basic console, for Primus’ sake. This’d mean no science for a week. A whole fragging  _week_. This was going to be positively  _unbearable_.
> 
> Time to comm someone and complain about it.
> 
> Pingpingping.
> 
> «You’ll never  _guess_  what’s happened to me just now, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «Knowing you, I probably won’t.»

Tarantulas

> «Hush, you. I’m STUCK. My mass shifting equipment’s malfunctioned and I’m locked at…  _five foot fragging three_. I can’t believe this. I can’t  _believe_  this.»

Prowl

> «Do you need help?» Prowl was expecting so, otherwise why would he have called?

Tarantulas

> «Of course I need help. I need help  _coping_ , because unless something fantastically fortunate happens, I’m restricted to this size for a  _week_  and I have literally nothing to do.  _Nothing_. I can’t use any of my equipment, I can’t even use my console, Prowl. This is AWFUL.» 

Prowl

> «I could help you use your equipment with holomatter.» Beat. « _You_  could use your equipment with holomatter. Your holomatter generator still works, doesn’t it?»

Tarantulas

> A pause, and then a groan. «It  _would_  work if it were ON… and if I could actually physically find it to  _turn_  it on.» 

Prowl

> He  _lost_  it? «You can’t activate it via comm?»

Tarantulas

> «Wwwwait - hold on. If I can -»
> 
> There was a full minute of silence, then a muted screech.
> 
> «This - this  _can’t_  get any worse, this is - I don’t deserve this.  _Why_. If I’m right, the damn thing was in the subspace that  _exploded_  and I’ll have to build a whole NEW one now because mine was obviously custom and quite frankly  _priceless_  -» 

Prowl

> «The  _subspace_  that  _exploded?_ »

Tarantulas

> « _Yes_ , unfortunately. Or more accurately, something exploded  _in_  it and rendered it inaccessible, and now I’ve lost my projector and Primus knows what other valuable equipment I had stored in it at the time. I  _knew_  I should have done an inventory last week! I  _knew_  it.»

Prowl

> Prowl rubbed his face. «Tarantulas,  _why_  are you mixing explosives with sensitive equipment?»

Tarantulas

> «I - I didn’t  _mean_  to.» Some muted cursing. «Well then, I suppose I have something to do while I wait on auto-repairs - I can figure out what ELSE I lost. I can’t  _use_  anything really, but I can  _find_  it. I hope.» And from the sound of it, he’d already started climbing around on oversized lab tables and equipment to take inventory.

Prowl

> Huff. «And maybe next time you should keep a separate subspace pocket for explosive items. At least it was contained.»

Tarantulas

> «I generally don’t keep explosives in subspaces at  _all_ , precisely for this very reason! But rest assured I’ll have an empty one on standby from now on, just in case. That’s  _another_  thing I can do while I’m - wait, no I can’t actually  _craft_  one right now, but -»

Prowl

> «You could at least work on the… whatever new subspace pockets need. Blueprints? Math?»

Tarantulas

> A  _pfft_. «You think I haven’t  _already_  done the math? I created a Primus-forsaken pocket universe, Prowl. I need only apply the math I already  _possess_. I suppose I could find some workarounds to allow me to create one while I’m miniaturized, but that’s such a bother. It’s - this whole  _situation_  is such a bother.» Some agitated chittering.

Prowl

> Prowl is trying very hard to not find the chittering endearing. «Blueprints, then. Or whatever else you need to do as prep work.»

Tarantulas

> Another chitter. «But - I don’t really  _feel_  like it now. I feel like  _complaining_. You’re trying to solve a problem I’m too fussy to even entertain at the moment.» 

Prowl

> «Ah. Yes. Well. Complain away, then.»

Tarantulas

> «…But I can’t complain when you expressly  _tell_  me to complain.»

Prowl

> Pause. «… I can’t just take it back, can I?»

Tarantulas

> «It wouldn’t help, no.» A huff, and some shuffling noises - it sounded like Tarantulas was still clambering around. «Hmmmmm, well, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear me complain anyway, I’ll think I’ll go complain to Soundwave. I’m sure you’ll hear the soundbites later.» 

Prowl

> «… I  _volunteered_  to listen to you complain.»

Tarantulas

> A thin hum. Prowl couldn’t see it, but Tarantulas was squinting skeptically. «I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not, so I’m going to err on the side of caution and leave you alone… Unnnnless you’d like to come  _with_  me to Dancitron, I suppose.»

Prowl

> «I’m—what? Why would that be sarcastic? I just said “complain away.” What I meant by that was “complain away.”»

Tarantulas

> «Wh - people don’t usually  _enjoy_ listening to others complain, that’s why. It doesn’t make any  _sense_  for you to volunteer to listen. Honestly, the only reason I’d go to Soundwave is he’s an insatiable gossip. You, on the other hand - well.» Tarantulas made a few inarticulate gestures.

Prowl

> «… You’re not happy and I’m attempting to be supportive. What am I doing wrong. Was I supposed to pretend I’m not willing to listen to you complain?»

Tarantulas

> «You’re being -  _supportive_?» Vaguely confused. «I - nonono, the last thing I’d want would be for you to  _pretend_  something, Primus no. But that’s what I - nevermind. Nevermind.» Tarantulas pawed at his face for a moment. «How about we rewind this conversation to the part where I mentioned something about taking inventory and I continue doing that.  _Please_.»

Prowl

> «I… yes? Am I doing it wrong? Stupid question—I’m doing it wrong.» He rubbed his optics. «Fine, okay, sure. Rewound. Inventory.»

Tarantulas

> For a moment there were only random noises of moving objects, and small taps of metal pedes on metal benches. What could Tarantulas even  _say_. He’d gotten sidetracked and now he didn’t feel like complaining anymore - and there wasn’t really anything interesting to say about laboratory inventory.
> 
> «…I  _think_  that may have been the only thing in the subspace. It was a spare, anyhow. I don’t even… remember… why…» More shuffling and clattering.

Prowl

> «A spare? So do you have another projector somewh—?» Prowl abruptly cut himself off. «Sorry. You don’t want advice.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas ignored Prowl’s apology and kept on. «Nono, I meant the  _subspace_. Now that you mention it, yes, I  _ought_  to have build another projector… if I’d had an ounce of foresight in me, that is. I’ll make sure to… hmm… but manually updating two at a time? That sounds cumbersome.»

Prowl

> Was it safe to offer advice, then, now that Tarantulas had moved to a new topic? «Can’t they be wirelessly connected? So updating one automatically patches the other?»

Tarantulas

> «I’m concerned about  _hardware_ , not software. And the thing is that I’ve  _got_  the specs for BOTH the hardware and software in my databanks, so currently I don’t have to worry about building from scratch, it’ll just be a royal pain.» 

Prowl

> «Does the hardware  _need_  to be updated that often? Essentially all of the updates mine has had for the last decade have been software, except for a single one to increase its fuel efficiency.»

Tarantulas

> «You  _do_  realize you and I use our holomatter avatar projectors a bit differently. Regardless, I may not restructure the hardware TOO often, but it’s often enough and fiddly enough that I’d really rather not have to do the same tinkering  _twice_.»

Prowl

> «Well, yes. I just plug it in and go. Still, though—how often  _do_  you mess with the hardware?» Pause. «… You could probably invent something that mirrors your motions on both projectors at once.»

Tarantulas

> «At least once every few months, I’d say. I don’t exactly keep track. And as far as  _mirroring_  goes, I could literally do that  _myself_. Have you SEEN how many arms I have?» A funny clicking sound. «I could use dual mechanical arms instead, it’s true, but I’d really just rather have it done myself without having to monitor two things at once.» Splitting his attention had never been Tarantulas’s strong-suit.
> 
> «Honestly I think the best solution here would be to simply  _not **lose**_ my primary projector in the  _first_ place. Possibly… ddddesignate somewhere it’d belong.» He sounded a bit sheepish. «Though, it can’t be in my own frame.» 

Prowl

> «Are they equipped to manipulate fine tools? I thought they were just for walking on.»
> 
> Prowl snorted. «Basic organizational skills. Good idea.»

Tarantulas

> A light scoff. «Why would I give myself appendages with only one basic function? You  _already_  know they’ve got - wait. No, I suppose you  _don’t_  know, hyeh. Do you. Unless you actually studied my frame blueprints.» 

Prowl

> «I  _did_  study them. That doesn’t mean I could make sense of them. I didn’t see anything on your legs that looked like they could manipulate tools.»

Tarantulas

> «Well, they  _do_  have claws on the tips that are sufficiently controllable for most simple manipulation, but that wasn’t what I was referring to, hyeh. I happen to have BLASTERS in my legs as well, as silly as that sounds.»

Prowl

> «… That  _would_  explain the strange-looking mechanisms in your legs that that bore a striking resemblance to blasters.»

Tarantulas

> «Hyeheh. Occam’s razor, dear.» There  _might_  have been the sound of a tiny blaster shot in the background, but one couldn’t be sure.

Prowl

> Prowl’s going to pretend he didn’t hear it. «Pf. I suppose so. What do you need blasters for, though?»

Tarantulas

> «What does  _anyone_  need blasters for? I’m not about to run around the multiverse without  _some_  kind of weaponry on me.»

Prowl

> «Some people live lives where they expect they’re going to get into battles. The point is I thought you weren’t one.»

Tarantulas

> «I don’t  _expect_  to get into battles, but they…  _have_  happened. Unfortunately. I’d rather not dwell on it at the moment.» Tarantulas sounded a bit brusque. Honestly, who  _would_  want to remember exchanging gunfire with the alternate of the person they were currently talking to?

Prowl

> «Hm. Fair.» Some nonsense with that anarchist group he’d gotten involved with, Prowl was sure.

Tarantulas

> Prowl wouldn’t be completely wrong in thinking that, but…
> 
> A bit of distracted chittering. «Back to what I was saying before - if I  _did_  go to Soundwave’s, would you be interested in coming along as well?» 

Prowl

> «Mm… as much as I would like to, it’s getting close to time to leave for work. I’d only have time to pop in and pop back out.»

Tarantulas

> A sad sound from Tarantulas. «That’d only give me cause to miss you  _more_. It’s likely for the best you not, then, but…»

Prowl

> «I’ll be back home and available again in about ten hours. Not that long.» Just a small eternity.

Tarantulas

> «Hopefully not too wiped out by then.» Wishful thinking, Tarantulas knew. «I ought to let you go, in that case. I’ll speak with you soon, I’m sure, what with all the free time I’ve got on my claws now.»

Prowl

> «Pfft.» He usually shuffled in, flopped down in the living room floor, and passed out for half a day. «Speak to you soon, then.»

Tarantulas

> «Until then, Prowl.  _Much love_.» The last bit came out as a purr.

Prowl

> An acknowledging ping.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone gets a rightfully-deserved scolding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas lied to Smokescreen about getting consent for a dangerous surgical procedure he performed on Smokescreen's adoptive father. Oops. Then Smokescreen saw fit to warn Prowl about Tarantulas being a Lying Liar Who Lies - then took it back seconds later after Tarantulas managed to convince Smokescreen he _hadn't_ lied to him after all. However, Prowl knows better than to believe that.

Prowl

> «STOP IT.»

Tarantulas

> Primus almighty…
> 
> «S-stop  _what_?»

Prowl

> «You lied to Smokescreen and now you’re lying to him about lying to him, and because  _he’s_  contacting  _me_  about it now it’s  _my_  problem. I detest Smokescreen, Tarantulas, and I do not relish being forced into the position of being morally obligated to  _save_  him from being  _gaslit_  by YOU.»

Tarantulas

> «Prowl, I -» Some mumbled cursing. How could Tarantulas lie without lying about lying? Something something three lefts make a right…? «I - Smokescreen and I had a misunderstanding, and we’ve cleared it up already. You’re absolutely not morally obligated to do anything regarding him, or even talk to him at all if you prefer!» Some muttering, followed by: «I have no idea why he commed you about this in the  _first_  place when this has absolutely nothing to do with you. Quite frankly it’s rude as pits, and I -» A huff.

Prowl

> «Don’t give me that scrap, we both know you better than that. You did not have a misunderstanding, so don’t tell me you did when  _you swore you would not lie to me._  And you’re only mad he contacted me because it inconveniences  _you,_  not because you actually care about whether or not it’s rude. Things are only “rude” when they’re your problem.»

Tarantulas

> «That’s absolutely not true, it - fundamentally things are rude regardless of whether or not they might be my problem, but I WILL complain about them when they ARE my problem, thank you.» Totally ignoring the whole “you lied to me” bit, of course.

Prowl

> Hold on while Prowl plays a recording.
> 
> « _Don’t give me that scrap, we both know you better than that. You did not have a misunderstanding, so don’t tell me you did when_   _ **you swore you would not lie to me**_ _._ »

Tarantulas

> Why, Prowl. Why you gotta. 
> 
> «Alright,  _alright_ , just - look at it this way. It doesn’t matter if we had a misunderstanding or not, so long as - why not tell Smokescreen whatever he wants to hear, and then he’ll leave you alone? Isn’t that what you want?» 

Prowl

          « _So don’t tell me you did when **you swore you would not lie to me**_.»

Tarantulas

> He - damn it. What was he supposed to say  _now_? It took a tiny bit longer than he wished it would to come up with a sufficient “explanation.”
> 
> «We DID have a misunderstanding. Smokescreen misunderstood that I was lying to him. We - we cleared that up - he found out I  _had_  lied, cut and dry. And now we have a new misunderstanding, which is NOT the one I was referring to when I said we’d cleared the old one up. In other words,  _I’m not lying to you_. I never did.»

Prowl

> «I would have respected your answer more if you’d just admitted you lied to me instead of made up a convoluted explanation to try to look like you hadn’t.»

Tarantulas

> Silence.
> 
> «…But you  _have_  to respect the fact that I was  _trying_  to keep to the terms of our agreement by giving an explanation that fit within its boundaries. I  _tried_ , which means - I do care about the agreement.»
> 
> Tarantulas mumbled something about Prowl not even knowing what Smokescreen had been lied to about in the first place, but Prowl’d have to be listening closely to pick it up.

Prowl

> «No I don’t. You lied to me and then tried to cover it up when you saw I wasn’t going to fall for it or willing to let you get away with it. If you cared about the agreement, you wouldn’t have broken it. What you care about is appeasing me.»

Tarantulas

> «That’s not true! I -»
> 
> …There really wasn’t any way out of this, was there. Prowl had him rhetorically pinned, and although Tarantulas didn’t see himself at fault for the situation, he wasn’t the one whose opinion mattered at the moment. What could he even say, though? He could hardly concede and admit he’d lied at this point, so - he’d just say nothing for now.

Prowl

> «… “You”?»

Tarantulas

> There was a faint bitterness in Tarantulas’s voice. «…I can’t say anything right now without making this  _worse_ , can I.» 

Prowl

> «You could have tried telling the truth. You could have tried apologizing for lying.
> 
> «But just being honest with me never even occurred to you as an option, did it?
> 
> «So no. I suppose not.»
> 
> Prowl hung up.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas stood in the middle of his lab for a good, long while before he commed Prowl back again. (What constituted a ‘good long while’ for Tarantulas was highly subjective, though.)
> 
> «Prowl, I was… subconsciously aware it was an option. But, considering it was such a trivial lie, and involving a subject I thought unimportant to you, I chose… I couldn’t help -» No, nono, wrong words. «I chose the wrong course of action. I - Prowl - I  _told_  you before that I’d slip up. I forewarned you, although I’m - I’d still say I was sorry if I thought you’d  _believe_  me. But please, please don’t let this become a larger problem than it needs to be - it’s - it’s not  _worth_  this.» A little whine at the end there.

Prowl

> «You tell me something that keeps me from being capable of trusting you is trivial. You tell me that something I demanded because I need it from you is unimportant. You tell me that you’re not going to apologize to me. You tell me that I should let it go because I was forewarned that you would mess up. And you’re telling me how much I should value my ability to trust you.
> 
> «You lied to me, denied it, covered it up with more lies, trivialized my concerns and needs, and tried to tell me how important it should be.  _That. Is. Worth. This._
> 
> «And let me remind you of something I said a long time ago.»
> 
> _I do expect you to slip up. But don’t you dare try to use that as an excuse._

Tarantulas

> «The lie to  _Smokescreen_  was trivial! And my actions with regards to Smokescreen are not representative of all of my interactions with others,  _especially_  not my interactions with  _you_. And I didn’t say I wasn’t going to apologize, I said I would say it if I thought you’d believe me! Because I  _am_. S-sorry, that is. 
> 
> «I did obfuscate what I meant when I said Smokescreen and I had cleared up a misunderstanding, but that - I didn’t - it isn’t -» Nope, Prowl had just said not to tell him how important something should be to him. Try something different. «I’m not using my forewarning as an excuse, it’s simply a fact. As is the fact that I personally don’t see this as something as egregious as you seem to think it is. But I also understand that it  _is_  important to you, and I  _do_  care about you, so I’ll - I’ll do - something. Differently.» Tarantulas had no idea what, but it seemed like the right thing to say at the moment. Maybe.

Prowl

> «You know at this point I cannot believe any of this is anything but a desperate belated attempt to appease me.
> 
> «This is… pathetic. This is pathetic. All you’re going to do is try to tell me what you think I want to hear. I’m done talking. We’re done talking.» Prowl hung up again.

Tarantulas

> Prowl may have hung up on him, but Tarantulas sent a final additional message.
> 
> «Even if I  _am_  attempting to appease you,  _there’s nothing wrong with appeasement_. I’m not - it’s not about telling you what you want to hear, even though the words might align - it’s about clearing the air, speaking what ought to be said, and reassuring you, regardless of how  _pathetic_  you think it might sound.»
> 
> Tarantulas wished he could add a snappy closing line to his statement, but he refrained. He’d already screwed things up bad enough as it was.
> 
> Joy, though. Prowl always thought the worst of Tarantulas, and even though it turned out to be right most of the time, Tarantulas was moderately fed up with it at this point.  _Why_  did Prowl have to jump on every little thing? What happened to  _benefit of the doubt_?

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> Prowl’s not talking to Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> …Tarantulas figured as much. He’d let him be for now.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas faces the consequences of his actions.

Tarantulas

> After their last commversation Tarantulas had simultaneously been dreading and desperately grasping for his next interaction with Prowl. Ultimately the latter feeling won out  ~~as it always did~~ , and Tarantulas ended up comming Prowl again only a few days later. It was tentative at best, just in case.
> 
> «Prowl…?»

Prowl

> There was the immediate click of the comm being answered, and Prowl’s voice, as cool and collected as ever:
> 
> « _Hello, Tarantulas. This is a prerecorded message, so I suggest you don’t talk over it._
> 
> « _You have broken one of the rules we established, and, more importantly, you demonstrated blatant disrespect for me. Every bit of research I’ve done on people like you—people who deceive, manipulate, gaslight, and disrespect the people they claim to care about—says that they will not change as long as they don’t suffer any consequences for their cruelty. And as far as you’re concerned, my suffering is no consequence at all. So here’s a consequence that affects you directly._
> 
> « _Until this timer runs out, I will not interact with you in any capacity._ »
> 
> Ping—a countdown, ticking seconds away. Hey Tarantulas, know how many days you spent privately agonizing before you worked up the nerve to contact Prowl? The time left in the countdown is over double that.
> 
> « _Future infractions will incur longer punishments._
> 
> « _Goodbye._ »
> 
> The comm ended. The countdown remained.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas carefully listened to the message all the way through, only letting his ventilation circulate again when he was sure it was over. His vents were shaky, though. Suffice to say, he wasn’t happy with what he’d heard.
> 
> Of course Prowl would pick the one punishment he knew would affect Tarantulas the most. Of course he’d cut off contact and force Tarantulas to stew in his own thoughts while he waited. Arguing with Tarantulas directly wouldn’t do any good; Prowl was simply going to make Tarantulas to argue with  _himself_. 
> 
> It only took three days for him to cave and comm Prowl again.
> 
> «I know - I  _know_  the countdown’s not up yet, but - it can’t hurt just to leave you a message. I don’t mind if you don’t reply. Primus, I don’t mind if you don’t even hear, you’re likely going to auto-delete this anyway, so - what does it even matter? Hyeh.» 
> 
> And on the message went, updating Prowl on little things in Tarantulas’s life, the trivial details he’d likely have rambled on about in regular comms. Things Tarantulas didn’t figure Prowl even cared about, but that he still wanted to share  _somehow_ , because pits… he was  _lonely_. (Why did it feel this bad only after a few days, when Tarantulas had previously lived alone for countless centurieswithout a trace of discontent?  _Why_?)
> 
> «…That’s most of it - most of what’s been going on, so to speak. Although I think it’s… how to put it…  _worth noting_  that I’ve been doing plenty of mental gymnastics as well. I heard and understood what you said in your message, and I… as much as it pains me to be treated like a newbuild like this, to be bluntly cut off - I suppose I  _deserve_  it.»
> 
> A lingering pause.
> 
> «…I love you, Prowl. The phrase isn’t a panacea, I’m well aware, but - it remains true, now and always. I’ll - I’ll comm you again soon.»
> 
> _Click_.

Prowl

> Prowl knew he shouldn’t listen. Every bit of advice he’d read told him that separating a victim from an abuser (and that’s what he and Tarantulas  _were,_ even if it hadn’t yet escalated, even if Prowl wanted to pretend that wasn’t the case) said there were two reasons for separating them: to show the abuser that if he didn’t change his behavior that his victim could and would leave; but also (and more importantly, many sources said) to remind the victim of what life was like separate from the abuser. Maybe Prowl needed that reminder and didn’t know it. While he had the chance, he should extricate himself from Tarantulas’s influence.
> 
> Instead, the second Tarantulas hung up, Prowl listened to his entire message. Twice.

Tarantulas

> Even though Tarantulas didn’t expect Prowl to respond, there’d still been a tiny part of him that hoped he would anyway. Tarantulas clung to that hope for a few days, watching it die a slow, asphyxiated death. Once the spark flickered out entirely, well - apparently that meant it was time for another fruitless comm call.
> 
> «Prowl, I… I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make any difference to say it now, but I’m sorry, I really am. And not simply the emotion-sense, I mean to say the actual  _would-rewind-and-change_  sense… And I suppose the  _willing-and-ready-to-rectify-the-situation_  sense, too, but I can’t  _do_  anything without your permission, and you’re not hearing this, so…» A chittering sigh. «What good does it do. I’m just talking to myself, really, and apologizing to  _myself_  won’t change anything. I’ll just… hyeh. Carry on.»
> 
> Then came the small details again, more quotidian tidbits about his work. Tarantulas’s tone actually seemed to lift a bit - he’d made good progress on a few things - but as soon as he got around to talking about the mnemosurgical malware, his mood dropped again. There wasn’t much he could do about it without talking to Prowl, so the project was on hold. 
> 
> «It’s just sitting there, Prowl. Itching in my helm, eating away at my processor. It’s a funny thing, the way unfinished thoughts tend to do that… Hmm. That’s why I need you, I suppose. To keep me from stagnating. But - hyeh. To keep me in line, too. But we knew that already - ever the enforcer, no matter what role you’re in.»
> 
> Tarantulas went quiet for a moment, apparently thinking. When he came back on again, he sounded tired.
> 
> «…I should go. But if you do hear, this… I  _am_  sorry. And… thank you. And I love you to both moons and back. Hopefully you’re doing well. I… I suppose I’ll see for myself soon enough, but I’ll be counting down the seconds til then.»
> 
> Prowl probably already knew that, though. Every once in a while Tarantulas would send the lowest-priority ping Prowl’s way just to check the timer. He did so now, right before he hung up.

Prowl

> Tarantulas sounded more sincerely remorseful with every call. Was the isolation getting through to him or was he getting better at acting? Prowl wished he could tell the difference. He couldn’t even afford to let himself be cautiously optimistic; he’d be risking letting his guard down around Tarantulas, who had proven many times he couldn’t be trusted with that.
> 
> But Prowl could hope. He could allow himself that much.
> 
> Out of everything Tarantulas said, the “I love you” and the “thank you,” the apology after apology, the words that pierced deepest weren’t any of those.
> 
> “ _Ever the enforcer, no matter what role you’re in._ ”
> 
> Heh. It was a pretty thought.
> 
> And one that hurt to hear.
> 
> He saved that clip separately, to play back alone.

Tarantulas

> It was a little longer until the next update from Tarantulas this time, but it was apparent why as soon as the message started. 
> 
> «Windchill’s nucleon charge rifle! It’s almost finished! Hyah, that’s  _one_  thing this has done for me, isolating me like this - I may not be able to focus on much, but I can  _hyperfocus_  on something for a little while, it seems. I’d been putting it off but finally I’m getting somewhere - and it looks  _gorgeous_ , Prowl, it really does. I wish you could see it. I - I want you to come visit so badly, really, it’s been far too long. It’ll be the first thing I ask of you once we’re speaking again, for certain.»
> 
> He carried on in the same tone, elated and energized about most everything on his figurative plate. Once he’d exhausted his momentary to-do list though, he signed off as before, with a repeated declaration of love and restless anticipation for the day they’d be able to meet again.
> 
> The message that dropped into Prowl’s inbox a day later was in direct contrast in terms of mood. The weight of the desperate melancholy in Tarantulas’s voice was almost tangible.
> 
> «I hate this. I  _hate_  this, Prowl. I - I love you, but I hate this so much.» 
> 
> And that was it.
> 
> Three days after that, another message, this time without any words at all. It was barely a message at all, actually - simply a [text file of lyrics](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/coldplay/thescientist.html) and an [audio file of the corresponding song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RB-RcX5DS5A).
> 
> Then, radio silence for the rest of the countdown’s duration.

Prowl

> Prowl listened silently to each message as it came in.
> 
> And with each one he listened to, he felt a little more… a little more disillusioned.
> 
> The more times he heard Tarantulas repeat “I love you,” the less the words meant anything to him.
> 
> When Tarantulas said  _I hate this, I hate this,_  Prowl wondered what that meant—was it just an expression of his temporary frustration? Or was it an attempt to manipulate Prowl into pitying him and ending the punishment early? Or was it symptomatic of something worse—a deeper, harder hatred, a bitterness against the things Prowl asked him to do, a resentment for his punishment?
> 
> Prowl couldn’t even trust the song. He read the words, he listened to it play; and everything was correct, the lyrics said the correct things. But why did they say the right things? Did they say what Tarantulas truly felt—or just what Tarantulas wanted Prowl to believe? Was this, too, just an attempt to soften Prowl up to him, to indirectly serenade him with sappy words? There was no way to know, was there?
> 
> … Soundwave had given him songs. Six songs, everything correct, the lyrics said the correct things. Prowl had never doubted them; Soundwave had never given him reason to doubt them. Soundwave, former Decepticon commander and spymaster, had never given Prowl reason to doubt him.
> 
> But Tarantulas had. Over and over again. Prowl couldn’t believe him even when he didn’t  _say_  anything, even when he only sent a song.
> 
> He wished he could.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t need to give Prowl another soft ping this time to know how close the countdown was to zero. The timer might as well have been incorporated into his internals by now.
> 
> _3… 2… 1…_
> 
> He gave Prowl a moment’s grace, then opened the commline.
> 
> «Prowl…? I do hope you’re not busy - you wouldn’t be so foolish as to end our moratorium while you’re at work, would you? Hyeh.»

Prowl

> Prowl answered immediately. «I’m amazed. You waited an entire ten seconds to comm me.»

Tarantulas

> A startled noise, then a huff from Tarantulas. «What’s so terribly  _amazing_  about that? That’s exactly as long as it needed to be. Any shorter and you might’ve commed me first and tangled the lines.» 

Prowl

> « _Pfft_. Sure I would have.»

Tarantulas

> «It - it was a hypothetical! Believe me, I calculated the threshold before which you were most likely to comm IF you did comm first, and I even rounded it up to the closest second for good measure.»

Prowl

> «I want to see your math.»

Tarantulas

> Another huff. «Of course you do. Hhhhold on…» 
> 
> A  _ping_. A few equations and fiddly bits, but mostly just the raw data of Prowl and Tarantulas’s calls that he could independently verify if he wished, and a graph to go with it, titled “P/T EXTERNAL INITIATION OF CONTACT (EXPECTED).”
> 
> «Is my work quite  _satisfactory_  enough? It was a little rushed, mind.» 

Prowl

> A moment of silence as Prowl reviewed the calculations. «… Your  _math_  is correct. But you left out half a dozen relevant variables and overestimated my desperation to speak to you.»

Tarantulas

> « _Which_ variables? And there’s nothing in there about desperation or lack thereof, none of the data’s psychological - it’s straight-up concrete  _facts_. You can’t dispute  _facts_.
> 
> «Are you hung up on the hypothetical? It was an extremely slim chance you’d call first, I’m aware, but it was sufficiently worth waiting past.» 

Prowl

> «For starters, my promptness.  _If_  I were so inclined to message you as soon as the timer expired, the comm would be sent a fraction of a second after the timer ended. To what end would I waste up to ten seconds waiting?
> 
> «Psychology  _is_  made up of concrete facts. They’re facts that are more changeable and harder to calculate than other, more easily measurable facts based on physical factors; but they are nevertheless still facts that have a profound, consistent, measurable effect upon potential results. Calculations that dismiss psychology are calculations that ignore a multitude of relevant factors.»

Tarantulas

> «That’s not what the data said, regardless of whether it’s what you’d actually end up doing or not. Obviously it wasn’t, so apparently the whole calculation set is useless anyhow. That’s become  _extremely_  apparent in the past few minutes.
> 
> «And I’m - I’m not saying psychology isn’t made of concrete facts, I’m  _saying_  that I’m not using baseless psychological inferences to sway my thinking one way or another  _outside_  of the math. I thought you knew me better than this, Prowl. I’m not entirely senseless.»

Prowl

> «Which indicates the data was flawed. As I said: your math was correct, but you were missing variables. If you’d had that variable, within the first ten seconds of the graph, it would have peaked at under one second and then formed a horizontal asymptote at 0% probability, rather than peaking at around five seconds.»
> 
> Huff. «Very well. That’s fair.»

Tarantulas

> «How do you figure that? That is - what would the variable be, and/or what would be the constant you’d add to the equation?» Tarantulas sounded genuinely curious now, thankfully no longer combative at all.

Prowl

> «Here.» Ping; a brief equation to add into the larger one.

Tarantulas

> Give Tarantulas a moment to tack things together and admire the result. 
> 
> «I can’t even be upset. You’re  _right_ , Prowl.» A warm sigh. «Things really  _are_  so much better when you’re around, you know. Nine-plus seconds is a ridiculous amount of error.»

Prowl

> An uncomfortable silence. Prowl was out of practice; he didn’t know what to do with the spontaneous praise anymore. It felt wrong to accept it; some part of him felt like it was being used to cover up something dark.
> 
> «It’s what I’m programmed for.»

Tarantulas

> A light hum. «Maybe, but you’ve amassed much more in your processor than your base coding. And maybe your coding is what I adore you for, if you want to be  _that_  reductionist about it. But - don’t bother yourself too much over it, certainly. Before all this mess, I  _did_  mean to ask if you could come over…?» Tarantulas sounded keenly hopeful.

Prowl

> «Have you built a new holomatter avatar projector?»

Tarantulas

> « _Two_ , hyeh. I had the materials and the time, so why not.»
> 
> _Ping_  - there’s the comm channel for the one he’s designated alpha.

Prowl

> «Didn’t you say having two would be an annoyance because then you’d have to upgrade both of them?»
> 
> For the moment, he didn’t access the projector.

Tarantulas

> «Yes, which is why I’m not upgrading beta consistently. But see, since I  _did_  have the time and resources at the moment, I’d rather construct a basic beta now than have to make it _entirely from scratch_  when I might be in dire need later on. I do have foresight sometimes.»

Prowl

> «Ah. Reasonable. A back-up. So that you don’t have a repeat of the incident you just went through.»

Tarantulas

> «Yes, although thankfully the same exact incident is highly unlikely to occur. But! One never knows.  _And_  I’d like to note - you didn’t answer my question.»

Prowl

> «Which question?»

Tarantulas

> A huff. «I asked if you could come over, Prowl. Or rather, if you want specifics - would you like to visit the Tor in holoform sometime in the immediate future?»

Prowl

> Those were two different questions, and they had different answers. Prowl answered the first one. «I can come over.»

Tarantulas

> Belatedly, Tarantulas realized his slip-up. «…Do you  _want_  to come over? And  _are_  you coming over? Both answers would be appreciated, not either/or, please.»

Prowl

> A long pause.
> 
> «… You don’t really want the answer to the first question. I’ve agreed to come over; I will if you still want it.»

Tarantulas

> «Not answering  _does_  answer it, Prowl.» Another silence; Prowl could probably just about hear Tarantulas’s mood drop and thunk on the floor at his pedes.
> 
> «…Why would I want you to come over if  _you_  didn’t want to? That’d be…  _rude_.» And uncomfortable, to say the least.

Prowl

> «I know it does. I wish you hadn’t asked it.»
> 
> A huff. «Because  _you_  want  _my_  company, and that want persists regardless of what I want?» The same reason Tarantulas had snuck into Prowl’s cell, and into his quarters, and picked up a list of his recent comm contacts, and stolen scans of Prowl: because he wanted from Prowl, regardless of what Prowl wanted. «Does that matter to you now?» Prowl was offering to give Tarantulas something he wanted even when he himself did not want it, was that not something Tarantulas would have gladly snatched up with a clean conscience and the self-assurance that this meant Prowl couldn’t later scold him for taking it?

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas would have taken it. Oh, he definitely would have, not long ago. For some reason the pulleys and gears had shifted since, although whether it was for better or worse was up for debate.
> 
> «It does matter to me.» A beat. «…But - why do you wish I hadn’t asked? Is it because you’d  _rather_  come over? … _Oh_. It’s because you don’t want to be having  _this_  conversation in the first place. I - I see. You’d rather pretend to care than actually speak your mind. Wonderful.» 

Prowl

> «I— no. Don’t do that. Don’t assign motivations to my actions.
> 
> «It’s because  _you_  want to see me right now—you  _have_  to want to see me, greatly, you’ve just been forced to  _not_  see me—and I didn’t want to take that opportunity away from you. Your punishment is over. And no, I’m not—by no means am I  _obligated_  to give my presence to you just because I know you wanted it, but I wanted you to have that.
> 
> «That can’t happen now without you thinking about how I don’t want to be there, can it.»

Tarantulas

> «I somehow have trouble believing that you have such a strong sense of  _duty_ regarding this subject that you’d feel compelled to give me something you don’t  _want_  to give. If you don’t want to,  _you don’t want to_. I don’t understand it otherwise, so  _no_ , unfortunately I don’t think you could come over without me thinking about it the whole time.
> 
> «But - hyeh, it’s fine. You don’t want to come over in the first place, so in the end you’re getting your preference, regardless of whether you planned it or not.»

Prowl

> «It’s—not duty. Not entirely. It’s…» Prowl trailed off. And sighed. Words, words. How do you put them together. «I don’t know.»
> 
> Yeah. He was getting his preference. He didn’t want it like this, though. «… A few months ago, I don’t think you’d have cared about whether I  _felt_  like coming over, so long as I  _did_  come over, and I wasn’t complaining to  _you_  about it. So, thank you.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas squinted hard off into the distance. He was - he was trying  _so hard_. He was trying so hard to make this work. It wasn’t working. He didn’t like it. Every word tasted sour in his mouth.
> 
> «You’re quite welcome.» 
> 
> No, Tarantulas didn’t want Prowl to come over anymore. He only wanted Prowl to come over when Prowl  _wanted_  to come over. As much as Prowl might consider the thought kind or considerate, there was another edge to it too - Tarantulas thought he deserved nothing less than Prowl wanting to come over. And if he couldn’t have his circumstances his way, he’d rather not suffer the discomfort of a mediocre middle ground for both of them.
> 
> But it didn’t serve any purpose to voice that. There wasn’t any changing Prowl’s mind at this point. Tarantulas couldn’t control  _everything_ , he was coming to realize. It wasn’t the prettiest realization to have.

Prowl

> As long as Tarantulas didn’t have anything more to say at that, Prowl took a second stab at trying to translate the thoughts he’d stumbled over a moment earlier.
> 
> «My motivation for my initial agreement to come over even though I didn’t want to was twofold. One: I wanted to reinforce the notion that, when you don’t mistreat me, you get the benefit of my presence; and also that I won’t arbitrarily extend your punishment past the point I said it would end, because there was a high probability you  _would_  see my decision not to visit you as an extension of your punishment even if the reason I didn’t come had to do with me, not you. Two: I wanted to—I wanted you to—to have the… the emotional benefits of my presence.»
> 
> No. Rephrase that. Be clear. Try again.
> 
> «… Happy. I wanted to make you happy.»

Tarantulas

> It was an unusually long time before Tarantulas spoke up again.
> 
> «…That’s three. Three motivations, not two.» Beat. «Not that - not that I’m - I  _do_ appreciate the sentiment. It’s just - three.»
> 
> Better to focus on the numeral than on what his processor was spitting out otherwise.  _Prowl just wants me to be happy to keep me docile. To keep me in line. So that I’m not a bother. A nuisance. He wants it for his own ends, not for my happiness itself. He engages when it suits him. He’s using me. I’m a pawn. I was and always will be._
> 
> It grated. Tarantulas strained against believing it, but nevertheless it grated.

Prowl

> «… The first one is one motivation. It’s just… It requires a lot of clauses that I can’t figure out how to explain in a way that makes them sound like all part of one motivation instead of two. But it’s one.»

Tarantulas

> «Did you… then, did you mean to say ‘ _I wanted my punishment to extend to its designated termination and no longer_ ’? …To be clear, you  _have_  already fulfilled that, you know.» Tarantulas wasn’t sure he liked how it was going so far, but yes, they were talking again. «With regards to the final point, I - I would certainly like to make you happy as well. But… it doesn’t seem practical for us to attempt to make each other happy by concealing obvious displeasure.»
> 
> It felt like Noisemaze static was creeping into his processor again, with all the thoughts he was trying to fend off. Just  _focus_. Prowl was still talking with you.

Prowl

> «… Yes, I—yes. I suppose that’s accurate. And—yes, I suppose I  _have_  fulfilled that. But it doesn’t… seem complete.»
> 
> A quiet sigh. «Mm.» The problem was that it  _was_  obvious. That was Prowl’s error.

Tarantulas

> A few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. «…You’re not going to make me happy by  _doling out rewards_  and _hiding the truth_ , Prowl. It doesn’t  _work_ like that. Hyeh, even I know that.»

Prowl

> _How would you know? You’re not a good liar_. No point in saying that. Especially since nobody was a good liar when they were sticking to an agreement not to lie. «You would have been happy if I’d shown up and hadn’t found out I didn’t want to be there. You would have had no reason to not be.»

Tarantulas

> An unhappy whine. «Are you honestly going to fixate on ‘what-ifs’ here? It doesn’t  _matter_  - the point is that I wouldn’t be happy  _now_ , knowing that you  _would_  have been falsifying a desire to be in my presence. Besides, I would’ve been able to  _tell_. I can tell when you’re uneasy.»

Prowl

> «No. I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I’m here and not there.»
> 
> Sure he could. Most of the time, Prowl  _wanted_  Tarantulas to know he was uneasy. «This conversation is going nowhere. Are we going to move on to a more fruitful topic or end it?»

Tarantulas

> «…Is it safe to assume that not only do you not want to come over, but also that you don’t truly want to be conversing with me? That’s… the deciding factor.»

Prowl

> Tarantulas, do you  _have_  to make it harder for them to have a peaceful conversation?
> 
> A pause. Prowl’s got to run a calculation on that.
> 
> «… I’m neutral.»

Tarantulas

> «Hmmn. We… might as well end the conversation, then. I’ve plenty of things to attend to, anyhow.» A half-truth.

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> «… Mm.»

Tarantulas

> «…Is that your way of saying goodbye, then? Or have I got it wrong?»

Prowl

> «No. It’s not. I…»
> 
> _I don’t want to—_
> 
> «… Doesn’t matter. You want to end the conversation. Bye.»

Tarantulas

> « _Prowl_.» Tarantulas tried to tamp down his exasperation. «Someone has to put their pede down at some point. It’s not even about who wants to talk to whom at this point, it’s simply a game of tug of war, and I’m - I’m done with it. Goodbye.»
> 
> _Click_.

Prowl

> Tug of war? Who was tugging? What the hell was Prowl supposed to say to  _that?_
> 
> … Nothing. He was supposed to say nothing.
> 
> He said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The situation was mostly resolved at [Soundwave's movie night the next Monday](https://verdigrisprowl.tumblr.com/post/166584329274/oct-16-dancitron-movie-night-star-trek-the) \- tl;dr, Tarantulas came late and was allowed to cuddle with Prowl while they all chatted, and things seemed mostly normal again.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas comes down with a virus, and of course, misery _demands_ company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Some headcanons on the virus he came down with](http://aranea-mechanica.tumblr.com/post/166584604049/hey-guys-lemme-tell-you-bout-c4nd33-570r3-i).

Tarantulas

> «Prowllllll… Please come overrrrrr…» 
> 
> Prowl ought to be so proud of him - he didn’t even ask if he “wanted to” or not. One point for that,  _and_  another point for having remembered to do so while running a fever high enough that Prowl could probably hear his ventilation running in the background.

Prowl

> He certainly can hear ventilation in the background. Sounds bad. «Why? What’s wrong? Is the holomatter projector on? What’s the new one’s access frequency?»

Tarantulas

> «It’s on, and I already  _gave_  you the frequency…» But Tarantulas pinged it to him again - no use wasting time arguing when he could have Prowl over already. «I’m  _sick_ , Prowl. It’s c4nd33-570r3 ver. 235976, and I already checked and you’re not compatible, but it’s  _awful_ , Prowl, pleeeease…»

Prowl

> Yet another extremely common virus to which Prowl was blessedly immune. «I’ll be right over. Where are you?»
> 
> His avatar appeared near the projector, and he immediately started looking around for Tarantulas.

Tarantulas

> «Err… a - a room off to the side? You’ll show up in the main lab, but…» Not entirely helpful, considering Prowl would find countless rooms and hallways branching off this way and that, a veritable maze.
> 
> It helped, though, that once Prowl came into Tarantulas’s line of vision, a weak “ _Over here_ ” issued from the correct shadowy offshoot of the lab. In the far corner of the webbed room hung one of Tarantulas’s signature silken hammocks, and in it the sick spidermech curled, sitting with his knees up against his chest. His extra limbs drooped loosely at his sides, but the rest of his body was tensed and slightly trembling along with the vibration of his fans.

Prowl

> «… There’s a  _lot_  of rooms off to  _every_  side.» That said, though, he’d wander a bit in what he thought was a likely direction.
> 
> And when he found Tarantulas, he didn’t even waste time walking to his side; his hologram flickered off and back on next to Tarantulas. A moment of scrutiny, and then his diagnosis: “You look awful.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas barely noticed Prowl flashing in and out of existence; he wasn’t really registering what he was seeing anyhow, those little bits he could see in between the overlapping alerts on his HUD.
> 
> A shaky snort. “Thanks. I  _feel_  awful. M-maybe a little better now you’re here, though.” Tarantulas’s visor dimmed, and one of his limbs reached out for Prowl.

Prowl

> Prowl huffed. Don’t be cute, Tarantulas, you’re too sick for that.
> 
> He gently took the spider leg that stretched out toward him, combing his fingers through the fuzz and rubbing his thumb along the bottom of the toe pads. “What do you need?” He wasn’t here to provide emotional support, he was here to make himself useful.

Tarantulas

> The problem with that was that being sick reduced Tarantulas to a barer, more fundamental version of himself, and if that self was “cute,” well then, so be it.
> 
> Tarantulas purred at the soft touches - they were a nice distraction from everything else, a good input to concentrate on. He almost missed what Prowl said in his haze.
> 
> “IIIIIdon’tknow. Let me check my fuel levels.” Tarantulas pinged his tanks, then gave a tiny jerk of surprise. Oops. “…It might not hurt to grab a little obtenteum. It’s - somewhere. Bright green. On the open shelves in the main lab, errr… Give me a moment. I can…”

Prowl

> Obtenteum. Right. And he should probably bring some extra to place within easy access of Tarantulas’s hammock. Maybe drag an empty cart over to serve as a berthside table. Prowl could hardly stick around to nurse Tarantulas back to health, but he could help make it easier for Tarantulas to take care of himself.
> 
> Prowl nodded, and waited for Tarantulas to finish that statement. Can what?

Tarantulas

> “…2 o’clock…  _ish_. The actual clock on the wall is 12.” Not a completion of his other sentence, and a completely arbitrary way of navigating the lab, of course, but it was good enough for the moment.
> 
> Tarantulas would wait quietly for Prowl to return, shivering there in his hammock. Ah, but it was nice simply to have someone else nearby…

Prowl

> “Right. I’ll be back soon.” Prowl stepped back; then stepped back in, leaned over the berth, and tapped his forehead against Tarantulas’s.
> 
> Then his avatar vanished, to reappear in the lab.
> 
> It was several minutes until he returned, pushing a rolling cart loaded with obtenteum. “I don’t know how fast you go through this, but hopefully this should last you a while.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s weary spark swelled at the helm-tap, and he offlined his visor completely to replay the sensation in his mind while Prowl was gone.
> 
> The gold glow flickered back to life again when he heard Prowl’s voice and the rumble of the cart, and his visor widened at the sight of what Prowl had retrieved. “That’s - that’s  _more_  than sufficient. A single cube would’ve done just fine, h-hyeh. I told you - it’s extremely refined.”

Prowl

> “You’ll burn through it faster while you’re sick. In your condition, you shouldn’t have to get up and grab another.” He locked the cart in place. “Anything else I can grab that you might need later?”

Tarantulas

> “That’s why I said a  _whole_  cube,” Tarantulas replied weakly. Damnit, it took too many words to explain that he’d only need a swallow at present. 
> 
> Some protracted staring off into the distance as he tried to think of what else he might need. “…I… I don’t know. I just know I need the fuel to survive.  _Is_ there anything else?” A pause, then a vaguely terrified whisper: “… _I hope all my equipment’s off_ …
> 
> “…Oh. I - yes. Nevermind, I’ve got - a protocol for that. I forgot.” Tarantulas rubbed at his face with a paw as he mentally initiated the sequence. Better late than never, he supposed.

Prowl

> “Coolant?” Prowl suggested. “Probably not heating tarps. Anything that can help you defrag?”
> 
> For a moment, Prowl was prepared to run and start shutting off anything making noise or radiating heat. “You’re sure the protocol will work? You didn’t get junk data rolled up on the code?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas arduously double-checked the command he’d sent just in case, but shook his helm. “No, the… the protocol’s on my main console. I’m not keeping the whole slagging program in my head. It’s connected to  _everything_.”
> 
> With a little wobble, the spidery mech nudged himself to the side in his hammock, as if making room. “But - no, what’d you say? Tarps?  **No**  tarps. I just need… I just need  _you_. You’re an avatar, you’re OK with - with cuddling, right? I don’t  _think_  I’m that overheated, to affect it…”

Prowl

> Prowl automatically reached out for Tarantulas, wanting to steady him; but stopped himself. He’d probably just tip the hammock.
> 
> Which was a definite risk now. He eyed it warily, considering the wisdom of going with Tarantulas’s request. “… I’m okay with it, yes.” He’d obtained some data on the motion of one of Tarantulas’s silk hammocks the last time it was here, and he could see how it swayed slightly now with Tarantulas in it. He’d still have to be very careful climbing in, since he couldn’t  _feel_  the hammock under him. Especially since, if he flipped it, he’d be dumping himself  _and_  a poor sick spider on the floor.
> 
> “Hold on.” He’s going to very slowly, very carefully, climb in.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a little giggle. Ah, yes, Prowl didn’t know how to manage a hammock very well, Tarantulas had forgotten. Easy to forget little things when your processor was a haze of redundant and meaningless code snippets.
> 
> “Holding,” he hummed, actually grasping at some of the silk as if it’d help. He let Prowl arrange them however he liked - Tarantulas himself certainly wasn’t in a state to determine logistics like that. Besides, he was distracted by the sensation of cool metal on his mix of fur and heated plating… or at least that’s what it felt like. Thankfully the hard light construct would keep cool far longer than Prowl’s actual metal ever could.

Prowl

> Oh, hush, it’s not that funny. Prowl grumbled, “At least I’m not flipping it.”
> 
> He settled into the hammock, trying not to think about how it felt like he was being held up by literally nothing. “Right,” he said. “You’re sick, and I’m a hologram. What’s comfortable for you?”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas moaned weakly. “ _Nothing’s_  comfortable, that’s what. But… if I had to…” He took a moment to think, taking in the situation.
> 
> Arms eventually reached out to push Prowl backward into the hammock, and Tarantulas proceeded to awkwardly sprawl himself on top of him. This way it worked out such that he was essentially lying on thin air, with nothing above to stifle him and only hard light below, absorbing and dissipating his heat.
> 
> Once he was properly in place, Tarantulas settled into a low purr. This - this was comfortable enough for the moment, yes. And he had Prowl - that was the most important thing.

Prowl

> He lay limp as Tarantulas manipulated him. He didn’t think trying to sprawl on his bumper could be that comfortable, but if Tarantulas liked it…
> 
> It was easier to hear Tarantulas’s overheated systems straining from underneath, even through the purring. “You sound awful.” He wrapped his arms loosely around Tarantulas’s back.

Tarantulas

> With his long arms and large shoulder pauldrons propping up his flat chest, it wasn’t  _too_  uncomfortable for Tarantulas to rest on Prowl’s bumper - and the discomfort he did feel wasn’t a problem anyhow, a small drop in the bucket.
> 
> “I know, it’s -  _wait_. You - you can  _hear_  me?” The distress in Tarantulas’s voice was almost tangible. Normally his systems ran near silent if they were audible at all - things must truly be dire if Prowl heard them loud enough to comment. Tarantulas gave a weary sigh. “Primus, I… I wish I could just  _recharge_ …”

Prowl

> “… Yes?” Was Prowl not supposed to be able to hear Tarantulas? “The purrs sound off.” If he wasn’t purring, it might not be audible at all. Besides, he  _was_ laying on Prowl.
> 
> “Is it hard for you to recharge?” Whenever Prowl was sick, it was hard for him to do anything  _but_  recharge.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas gave a weak whine. “I can barely run diagnostics right now… I suppose there’s no point trying to find the sound’s source, then. It’ll - it’ll fix itself, I hope.” No more purring, then. The thought of hearing his systems echoing in the vibrations made him nauseated.
> 
> “And - nnnno, I wish it were… I don’t  _trust_  myself to recharge.” A shiver, and he clutched at Prowl. “I don’t - what if I don’t  _wake up_? Something could spontaneously malfunction in my sleep, and - and -”

Prowl

> “I hope so.” … Scrap. He hadn’t meant to  _stop_  the purring. He moved one of his hands up to rub Tarantulas’s pauldron, trying to get him to start purring again.
> 
> “I doubt you’re anywhere near sick enough for that to be a possibility.” Prowl had never had to deal with c4nd33-570r3 himself, but he’d seen plenty of other mechs with it, and Tarantulas’s symptoms were nowhere near the worst of them. “And a proper defrag cycle might help you remove the junk data faster. But, if you’re  _that_  set on not sleeping, fine.”

Tarantulas

> The petting seemed to soothe Tarantulas for a moment, but he continued to shiver on and off as his thoughts bounced around. 
> 
> Suddenly he tensed up. “But - what if - since the coding in my processor is massively more complex than most mecha’s - the junk data’s p-potentially more fatal when misexpressed? Who - who  _knows_  what the virus could insert. I  _have_  to actively combat - I  _have_  to.”

Prowl

> “The coding in your processor is not massively more complex than most mecha’s. The conscious thoughts you make with them may be complicated, but the code itself is the same as any other mech’s.” He’d been in Mesothulas’s mind. He would know.

Tarantulas

> “But the - but the  _data_  - I might have data  _stored_ …” Tarantulas gave a small whimper. “You can’t know, Prowl, one can never know, and it’s eating away at me. I don’t want to recharge. I  _can’t_.”

Prowl

> “A thorough system scan would let you know.” But Tarantulas was in no condition to be convinced, was he?
> 
> “Cleaning up all that data without a proper defrag cycle will be much slower and unpleasant.” He nuzzled Tarantulas’s helm, brushing his lips over his forehead. “But if that’s how you want to do it, I’m not going to stop you.”

Tarantulas

> “I don’t have the  _processing power_  for… for…”
> 
> Hhrm. It was hard to focus on forming words with Prowl nuzzling him like that. Tarantulas’s hold on Prowl loosened a little and he ultimately slumped on top of him, slightly purring again. Quietly, definitely softer than before, but still audible.

Prowl

> _ There _  was the purr. Prowl’s work here was done. He let his head drop back. “I’ll stay until it’s time for work.”

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas silently mourned the loss of the nuzzling, but he quickly got over it, overwhelmed with other sensations and alerts as he was. Just don’t stop petting him one way or another and he’d survive.
> 
> “P-please… please, yes.” Primus, that might just be the most pitiful Tarantulas had ever sounded in the whole time Prowl had known him.

Prowl

> That was, indeed, pretty pitiful. Maybe he could leave his avatar on and idle while he was working. At the very least, he could visit during his break.
> 
> He kept combing his fingers through Tarantulas’s fur; but unless Tarantulas spoke, he wouldn’t say any more.

Tarantulas

> No, Tarantulas didn’t have anything else on his mind at the moment besides how miserably sick he felt. Well, that, and he was wordlessly grateful that Prowl was here with him. Absently he hoped Prowl would be able to feel that somehow.
> 
> After a long while of petting and gradual heat-dispersal, Tarantulas did unintentionally slip off into recharge. 

Prowl

> Prowl noticed, but didn’t change his motions. He just kept quietly petting Tarantulas, until it was time for him to leave; and then his hand settled on Tarantulas’s back and he let his avatar idle in a facsimile of recharge as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eventually Tarantulas got better, no worries.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas sorts out Magnum Ace's mysterious portal problem; he and Prowl run into inevitable difficulties.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas didn’t bother with a ping this time, jumping right into Prowl’s comms with unusual intensity. « _I’ve figured it out._  I need remote access to your comm unit for just a moment to verify my theory.»

Prowl

> Give him a minute to reply, he was busy being talked to at the construction site.
> 
> «What? No. Figured what out?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas spent that minute impatiently pacing in front of his console. He’d been just about to start pinging Prowl when he finally replied.
> 
> «The portals. Magnum’s portals - they’re most definitely connected to your comm unit. You’ve scrambled his comm frequency with your holomatter avatar boot sequence, I just  _know_  it. But you  _have_  to let me analyze your comm unit coding for me to know for sure. If my hypothesis is correct, you’ll keep opening portals each time you activate your avatar, and Primus knows we can’t have that.»

Prowl

> «… You’ve  _what_?  _I’ve_  what? How?  _What?_ »

Tarantulas

> A hissing sigh. Tarantulas had tried to explain things in the simplest words, but… «I’VE solved where the portal doorways in Magnum’s universe are coming from. YOU have cross-interference between your comms and avatar that’s ripping very specific holes in the multiverse. As for the HOW… I can’t know that until you let me actually study the situation, but it’s a coding glitch, 99.9% likelihood.»

Prowl

> «… How does a  _coding glitch_  tear holes in the fabric of…» A pause. «Subspace pockets?» Comms  _did_  operate on subspace channels…

Tarantulas

> « _Yes_ , it does have to do with subspace channels. And I say  _channels_ , not channel, because Magnum’s frequency can functionally act as another set of coordinates - and since his frequency was inserted into your avatar boot sequence, the program ends up ripping what was supposed to be  _one_  subspace channel into  _two_  because of the competing end-coordinates. Thankfully it seems none of the data from your avatar program gets diverted to Magnum’s universe due to flow restrictions, but it does mean that entering the portal created in Magnum’s universe drags him into the end location of wherever you’re onlining your avatar.»

Prowl

> «… So it created a… not a  _space bridge,_  per se, but more like a subspace wormhole? With a  _comm unit?_  But that's—that’s revolutionary, Tarantulas, if we could harvest that and do it  _intentionally—_ my fuel consumption didn’t increase on the nights when Bonecrusher and I accidentally dragged Magnum through, that would make this an  _incredibly_  energy-efficient replacement for space bridges—no need for standard fuel-hungry bridge equipment, no need to track down different coordinates across the multiverse, just two bots with standard subspace comm units… That’s  _extraordinary._  We can harness this, right? If you know how to fix it then you must have some idea of how to intentionally replicate it?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas held back an irritated chitter. «No, I  _don’t_  know how to replicate it, because I don’t have access to your comm unit to inspect the coding. And I’m not certain it’s even replicable in the first place, fundamentally speaking - there’s no way to reliably know if the rip creating the two channels will occur. Which is to say, I don’t know how that step actually  _works_. And I don’t know about any unintentional side effects or consequences the rip might be causing that we don’t know about.» An uncomfortable thing for Tarantulas to admit, but he didn’t want to get Prowl’s hopes up.

Prowl

> «Surely that’s all information you could figure out with proper examination and experimentation? As for the  _reliability_  question, since I’ve made contact with him, every single time my holomatter projector has been used, he’s appeared. True, there’s no guarantee it will keep working that way, but preliminary evidence at least suggests a high degree of reliability. This is at least worth looking into.»
> 
> But nothing was happening without comm unit access. «What part of the coding do you need to see? I can copy it and send it over.»

Tarantulas

> «Oh, I’m not questioning that it’s worth looking into. I’m merely - well. I simply don’t want to give you unrealistic hopes as to the potential this might hold. I’m under the impression that this might be more of a  _multiversal anomaly_  than a consistently replicable event, but I could be wrong. In any case, I  _do_  have to look into it more. Let me see…
> 
> «For starters, I most  _definitely_  require Magnum’s contact info and your avatar program - not only the boot sequence, mind you, I need the whole program and avatar specs just in case it got linked to  _that_  instead. And… hmm. A few other things…» Tarantulas took a minute or two to cobble together a list and pinged it to him. «I’d honestly like access to your entire comm unit to be thorough, but it sounds like you’re not likely to grant me that freedom.» Huff.

Prowl

> «An anomaly is merely a natural phenomenon with inadequately understood causation. Am I hearing self doubt? Out of  _you?_ » Prowl suspected his system clean-up after his recent virus had missed a few bits of junk coding. Perhaps somewhere in his ego.
> 
> After a scan of Tarantulas’s list of requirements and a quick look through the requested coding to make sure there wasn’t anything sensitive or linked to his comm’s security systems, he sent the list, Magnum Ace’s contact info, and  _only_ the avatar program’s boot sequence. «Maybe it’s not in the boot sequence, but at least search there first before expecting to get more of my avatar program. You’re right—I’m not giving you full access to my entire comm unit, and it’s my intention to not give you full access to anything else, either.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas’s vocals were terse when he snapped back. « _Hah hah_ , terribly amusing. I may know the Specimen and its rotten petri dish inside and out, but I don’t pretend to know all of the complexities of what lies  _beyond_. Besides, I have yet to get whatever information Soundwave possesses on his instance of multiversal overlap. Just -  _let it be_. Let  **me**  be. You’ll get results one way or another, don’t get  _greedy_.»
> 
> Scanning over what Prowl sent him, Tarantulas chittered briefly in irritation. «Very well. You’ll hear back from me shortly.»

Prowl

> A long, long stretch of silence.
> 
> «… All right.»
> 
> That’s it. He’ll wait for Tarantulas to be the one to hang up.

Tarantulas

> If that’s indeed all Prowl has to say, it’ll come promptly and without a goodbye.
> 
> _Click_.


	71. Chapter 71

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas gets up to some sexy shenanigans; Prowl attempts to show his appreciation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely rated **Mature**.

Tarantulas

> Ping! Completely unbidden, a highly suggestive picture of Tarantulas fellating a dildo that looks vaguely similar to Prowl's spike.

Prowl

> Prowl dropped his datapad.
> 
> Oh.  _Hello_  there.
> 
> «Yes?»

Tarantulas

> In reply, Tarantulas merely sent another picture, this time a different angle and with more tongue - both of them, naturally - spiraled around the false spike.

Prowl

> Oooh.
> 
> «… Go on.»

Tarantulas

> Hmm, what next…
> 
> This time it turned out only to be an audio file, but it was certainly worth as many words as either of the pictures were. 
> 
> A moan, obviously muffled by the false spike. Fans running high in the background. Wet noises of licking, sucking, sliding - all rhythmically coordinated, of course - and a single obscene swallow. And finally, Prowl’s name, whined low and breathless and needy, right into his audial.

Prowl

> A long moment of silence.
> 
> And then—Prowl’s voice trembling—«Let's— let’s stick with pictures, please.»

Tarantulas

> Pictures only? …Muted video clips were really just lots of pictures set one after another, right?
> 
> The vid Tarantulas sent Prowl now was merely a silent snippet, but that didn’t make it any less salacious. It seemed to be a re-enactment of the audio clip in visual form - although, if Prowl synced the two together, it’d be a nearly flawless match.
> 
> First came a close-up side view of tongue and mandibles and chelicerae worshipfully tending to the toy, its ridged and slicked surfaces suspiciously opalescent and reflecting what little light there was in the room. Then came the teasingly slow removal of the spike from Tarantulas’s mouth, tongues unwinding from around it, fluids dripping just a bit as his mouthpieces came back together - and then, finally, he tipped his helm toward the camera in time to whine Prowl’s name, just as he’d done in the audio clip. Without a proper mouth to articulate it the name was technically unreadable, but the emotion of it was clearly expressed in the desperate curve, glow, and flicker of his golden visor and the minute movements of his now-unoccupied mandibles.

Prowl

> Oh. Yes. Much better than a picture. That was, in fact, a  _whole bunch_  of pictures.
> 
> And Prowl thought it only fair that Tarantulas receive a return message that not only reciprocates the offering, but also demonstrates the exact effect that Tarantulas’s gifts are having on Prowl. But what. But  _what._
> 
> …
> 
> [Two minutes later, Tarantulas received a dick pic.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/68afcf833ecd5173339f7668718d3a4e/tumblr_inline_p0d872nOBM1urujbv_500.png)

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn’t sure which was more ridiculous - the fact that Prowl had just sent him the most stereotypical sext in existence, or the fact that it’d taken two full minutes for him to snap the picture. It was obvious from the angle it’d been awfully difficult for him - he couldn’t see over his own bumper, really, so the picture was actually taken  _over the edge of it_. Primus.
> 
> How should he even respond to  _that?_  
> 
> …Obviously, Tarantulas ought to show him how it was done.
> 
> [Posing with the false spike he’d been sucking off pressed against his own, Tarantulas took a significantly more suave ‘dick pic’ than the one he’d received.](https://78.media.tumblr.com/068ccaec7be1ddbfd574e7b1870105e8/tumblr_inline_p0d7xlOSm01urujbv_500.png)

Prowl

> Look, Prowl can’t even see his own equipment, that picture took effort. One whole minute to take it, and another minute to stare at it because he completely forgot that’s what the area around his array looks like.
> 
> That, is a very appealing picture. And yet, he can’t help but think… «… Am I being one-upped?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas held back a snicker, then shook his helm. Alright, might as well break his comm silence.
> 
> «No, darling, you’re being  _seduced_. This isn’t a competition.» A light purr, and some  _suspicious_  noises in the background. «Well, it  _might_  be a competition - to see how quickly I can tempt you into coming over, or at least take a break from work, wherever you are…»

Prowl

> Really? Because Prowl felt pretty thoroughly shown up.
> 
> «Ah. Yes. Well, then. Task accomplished. … And for future planning purposes, if you tell me that’s what you’re doing, I’ll be able to more promptly inform you when you’ve succeeded.»

Tarantulas

> Hey, Tarantulas has had a lot of practice learning how to look good in front of a camera. Let him have this.
> 
> «I suppose I’ve succeeded then, but I’m not  _satisfied_  yet, Prowl… If it’s a competition, there has to be a  _prize_  for the winner, don’t you think? Overload sounds like a lovely prize to me - one that I’d be more than willing to share.»

Prowl

> On the one hand, Prowl didn’t like the implication that interfacing was a prize that Tarantulas could earn and then therefore be owed.
> 
> On the other hand, this was all in the context of a ridiculous flirtation-based premise of a seduction competition. He’d let it slide as long as he didn’t see it pop up in any other context. And Tarantulas  _did_  phrase it like it was a prize he was sharing with Prowl rather than a prize Prowl was obligated to give Tarantulas. «Under the circumstances, I think that sounds reasonable. I’ll be over in a couple of minutes.»

Tarantulas

> «A couple of minutes?» A devious hum and laugh from Tarantulas. «Plenty of time for me to get another few images in, then.»
> 
> A moment later, Tarantulas followed up on his word - this time it was a quick vid, a closeup of his valve. Even though he seemingly hadn’t touched anything yet, he was still leaking a ridiculous amount of opalescent lubricant, which dripped luxuriously down his array. A single claw began to trace the outline of his valve and around his nodes, carefully tugging at the plush material and dragging a slick line of lubricant after it.

Prowl

> «I’m coming, I’m coming.» As though Prowl needed more encouragement.
> 
> And unless Tarantulas had any other last minute images to squeeze in, that was Prowl’s last communication before he arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they fragged!


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarantulas feels ignored; Prowl is exhausted; that combination proves to be extremely unhelpful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Preface: Prowl showed up late to a movie night because Bonecrusher had a breakdown and Prowl needed to talk to Soundwave. Poor, tired Prowl accidentally ended up ignoring and misunderstanding Tarantulas in the process, and subsequently, someone's in a huff now.

Tarantulas

> No ping, no greeting - just a comm. 
> 
> «Did I mention the glitch isn’t in the boot sequence? Because it isn’t. I need the rest of the coding. Please.»

Prowl

> Straight to business, huh?
> 
> Well. Probably for the best, wasn’t it? Certainly more efficient that way.
> 
> Prowl sent about two-thirds of the rest of the coding, and none of the actual avatar data. Parts of the coding were highlighted.
> 
> «This is all that I activated before I had to shut it off yesterday, and it still caused the leaguers to show up. So the problem is somewhere in here. Since the open portal isn’t persistent—otherwise, they could just walk back out, or other people would walk through—it’s going to be something that activates once during the boot-up rather than something that remains active and is referenced persistently, so those are the parts I’ve highlighted.»

Tarantulas

> A few seconds of dead silence, then: «...You didn’t need to do that. Primus, you could have just sent me the whole program instead of chopping it to bits and feeding it to me piecemeal. Why are you so intent on - on -»

Prowl

> «Why do you need the whole program when I can tell you, with 98% confidence, that the problem you need to find is in this portion?»

Tarantulas

> «Because you're _keeping_ things from me and _coddling_ me, when you could just **trust** me and let me handle the problem myself!» Tarantulas spat the words bitterly. «But no, you want as little to do with me as possible, I get it. You're dead set on _shutting me out_ , Primus damnit.»

Prowl

> A moment—a long moment—of silence.
> 
> «... You're mistaken. And I'm—confused.»

Tarantulas

> «If I'm so mistaken, then _prove me wrong_. Give me evidence to the contrary, because all I'm seeing now is you blatantly, repeatedly, and dismissively rebuffing and ignoring me whenever it suits you, in favor of literally anything else.» And by "anything" he mostly meant "Soundwave."

Prowl

> «I...» Helpless silence. «... _When?_ I don't... I know I missed that you were trying to get my attention at the movie. But... when else? What did I do?»

Tarantulas

> «Don't give me that. Not only did you quote-unquote "miss" my multiple attempts at getting your attention - you obviously _did not care_ once both Soundwave _and_ I pointed it out. In fact, you had the bolts to push me away, and then **fled** when I rightfully got upset about it. And _no_ , this isn't the first time this has happened, though I'm loathe to go drudging through old memories that'll only raise my ire even more. If you absolutely _must_ have receipts, I _will_ do it though.»

Prowl

> «... I did miss them. I completely missed them. And I am sorry I missed them. I am. But it wasn't deliberate, and I do care that it bothered you. I...» He falters for a minute; but then forces himself to continue, «I _was tired_. I know you're sick of hearing that. But being tired means being too—too mentally addled to pay attention to already sub-normal tactile input, or however you were trying to get my attention—were you talking to me, too? I don't know. I honestly don't know.
> 
> «Yes, I left—I was making you upset and you were becoming irate, of course I left, I was hardly in a mental state to—undo whatever the hell I did.» He isn't in a mental state NOW to undo whatever the hell he did. He still hasn't slept. He's so tired.
> 
> «I have no idea what that means.»

Tarantulas

> «I **know** you were tired, you don't have to tell me a million fragging times. That doesn't _forgive_ it, when you just _up and leave_ instead of at least - at least telling me what's going on! Just a tiny sliver. _You're shutting me out_. And don't tell me you simply didn't have the energy - I just _know_ you were talking with Soundwave the whole fragging time over comms, by the way. Don't try to hide it.»

Prowl

> «I know you know. I know. And I don't want or expect you to forgive me for it. I just— I want— I want you, to...» He sighed, and rubbed his face. Words, words. Say it correctly this time. «... I'm not telling you I'm tired because I think, that... gets me out of trouble, or something? If I'm in trouble. I don't know if I am and that's not what I care about. I keep saying it because I'm... trying to... I want you to understand that, I haven't... I haven't looked at you and decided that you aren't worthy of my attention. At no point did I make a decision that I don't feel like acknowledging you. I thought... I don't know. I thought that might help.» It just sounds stupid now.
> 
> Silence. _"… when you just up and leave instead of at least - at least telling me what's going on!"_ Was that Tarantulas saying he wants Prowl to explain why he up and left? Or, if Prowl explains why he up and left, will Tarantulas get mad at him for making excuses? Dammit. He rubs his optics. «Okay. I'm going to— I don't know if you're implying that you want me to explain why I up and left, or if explaining why I up and left will come across as making excuses, and I'm—» Scared of getting it wrong? Scared he's going to make Tarantulas more angry or upset in the process of attempting to undo whatever damage he'd caused? Trying to talk around what felt like a knot of wires in his vocalizer trying to short-circuit his voice? «... I'm going to wait until you clarify it, so I don't mess up again.» Coward.
> 
> «Yes. I was speaking with Soundwave. I've— I haven't been hiding that. I said I...» He falters, and trails off. Tarantulas doesn't want to hear him repeat himself.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas felt a rush of emotion - he wasn't sure what - boil over in his chest. «It - it wasn't even intentional, is what you're saying. So you're saying you didn't have to _decide_ I wasn't worth your attention. It may as well be automatic by now. Hyah.»
> 
> Whatever emotion it'd been, that flash, that rush - it was immediately doused and drowned out by what Prowl said next. _"... so I don't mess up again."_ That - that could mean so many things. What should Tarantulas say to that? What _could_ he say?
> 
> «I _would_ like to know why you left, yes.» At this point Tarantulas wasn't sure he'd like it, but he felt he needed to know.

Prowl

> «N...» How does he say no to that? Everything about the denotation was wrong; but the words themselves were, in a literal sense, correct. It wasn't intentional; he didn't decide Tarantulas wasn't worth his attention; he did, automatically, not have the capacity to recognize that somebody was physically poking at him. These were correct facts. They were all wrong but they were correct facts, and how did he get around— How was he supposed to— He jammed the heels of his palms against his optics.
> 
> «... I...» ... He couldn't explain why he'd left, could he? Because he'd already explained it once. «... You don't want to hear me repeat myself.» He can only say any given thing once, or Tarantulas will be upset that he's repeating himself.
> 
> ... He has to wonder if it's deliberate. If Tarantulas decided to reject or ignore the first time Prowl tries to explain himself, demand an explanation, and then express rage when he hears the same explanation a second time. What's the objective? Is cutting Prowl off from re-sharing the truth he shared the first time intended to force him to change his story until it becomes one Tarantulas accepts? Is it to shut him up entirely?
> 
> Was all of this deliberate?

Tarantulas

> Dead silence hung between them for a while. Prowl hadn't said anything truly substantial, but somehow his lack of words seemed to speak for him. Either that, or Tarantulas's mind filled in the gaps for him instead.
> 
> «I - I don't. I really - I really don't, if the answer's going to be the same again and again. Because right now it just - it just sounds like - I know you've _claimed_ that you care, that you're sorry, but -»
> 
> Tarantulas didn't _feel_ it. He didn't see it. It didn't click. And the more Prowl floundered, the more Tarantulas felt like pulling away.

Prowl

> «I don't—I don't know what I _did_. You said I've—done this before, but refused to tell me when or how—you said you'd—get mad if I asked, and—I don't want that, so I can't ask—you get upset when I explain myself because, I guess because it's not good enough, or else you ignore the explanation—then you get upset if I—try to clarify that explanation—because then it's either 'repeating myself,' or it's—it's whatever worst possible interpretation you can spin, and I can't correct it, because correcting it is repeating myself—but if I don't explain, you're upset because I didn't—I—what's the corner you're trying to back me into, Tarantulas? Where are you trying to make me stand? I'm—bad at picking up hints, I don't—I don't know where you're trying to make me stand. I'll stand there, just show me where.»

Tarantulas

> «I'm - I-I'm not -»
> 
> Tarantulas may have felt emotionally doused before, but he was definitely drowning now. There was too much. Too much to parse. And if this was what Prowl was thinking - well, nevermind that, Prowl was wrong. Tarantulas wasn't trying to back him anywhere. He wasn't.
> 
> «You won't believe me if I say I'm not trying to manipulate you right now, will you. You can't - you can't take me at my word. Because - I don't make sense, do I. I see. That's fair. That's entirely fair. I'm - I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Prowl, I - I'm sorry.»

Prowl

> Silence.
> 
> Then, thickly: «Then—if you're not—then—what am I doing wrong? I'm—going by the rules you established—don't ask about whatever else I did, don't repeat myself—it's not working. I'm making it worse.»

Tarantulas

> «You're - you're not. It's -»
> 
> This wasn't going well. It hadn't been going well, not since the end of the movie, when Prowl had shown up at Dancitron. And that, even then, didn't feel like the start of it. Tarantulas couldn't possibly pin it down.
> 
> Especially now, he suddenly felt as if... he'd _broken_ Prowl. As if he'd been holding something gorgeously, intricately fragile in his paws and twisted his wrist just so and shattered it. This was _Prowl_ , Primus damnit. _Prowl_. And Tarantulas was doing this to him. He was throwing awful scathing words at him and hoping they burnt him like acid, as if Prowl deserved that. As if -
> 
> No. Tarantulas shouldn't get carried away. Prowl was waiting on the line - and hadn't he asked Tarantulas not to go silent unexpectedly without giving word of what was going on? Tarantulas had just broken something; he shouldn't make things worse by frightening Prowl more.
> 
> «I'm still here.» A shaky pause. «You're not doing anything wrong. You're just - doing what I told you to do, which makes it my responsibility. Not yours. I'm -sorry.»

Prowl

> His fingers dug into his helm as he waited for Tarantulas to say something—he was still on the line—just say something. His shoulders sag when Tarantulas finally speaks again.
> 
> «... Then what should I do?»
> 
> He's messed up so much lately—he messed up with Bonecrusher, he messed up with Mixmaster, he messed up with Hook, and not only did he mess up yesterday with Tarantulas, he is continuing to mess up right now, and furthermore he has apparently been systematically messing up with Tarantulas for a long time without even realizing it. How much has he done wrong that he needs to undo? «I just want to get this right.» He's bound and determined to get it right.

Tarantulas

> «So do I.» Tarantulas's voice was weak now, nervous. «I - don't know what to tell you. Apparently my directions before were faulty, so I'm probably not the best one to say where we ought to go from here. I feel like - like if you were smart you'd probably just hang up on me, but like I said, don't listen to me, I'm - I'm not the authority here.»

Prowl

> «I—That's—what I tried, when—» No. He'd said that already. «... I need to... I can't say anything if I can't repeat myself. I'm—sorry.»

Tarantulas

> «You _can_ , if you have to. Screw the damn rules. I... I didn't even mean them as rules anyhow. I didn't.»

Prowl

> A deep vent. «That's why I left. You wanted to know why I left. I was—trying to be smart. I knew you were upset. I—knew that I'd make it worse. I'd upset you more—like I'm doing now. So—better to leave. Correct? Less suffering.»

Tarantulas

> A sound that was almost a whimper. «No, Prowl, _no_ , no. That's - you can't know you'd've made it worse. You definitely made it worse by leaving, I can tell you that much, I - can't you _see_? Can't you see what I'm even _upset_ about?» Choked desperation was sneaking into his voice. «It doesn't make any sense to leave if you've been - if I feel ignored. It just - reinforces the fear. Prowl, I need an antidote, not hospice. Not _abandonment_ , not - leaving. Don't leave. Please, _never_ just up and leave me, Prowl.»

Prowl

> «... I know leaving made it worse. But that harm is—is finite. It happens and then it stops. When I stay—and try to do something, it just keeps getting worse. Like now. Last conversation wasn't as bad as this one.
> 
> «I can't promise I'll never—never _leave a room_ until you're ready for me to go. That's too much from me. That's past what I can offer. To anyone, ever.»

Tarantulas

> «It may be finite, but it's so deep, Prowl, and it _doesn't_ stop. At least a conversation still has the potential to get better, doesn't it? To mitigate. To soothe. Repair, what have you. Leaving just - _breaks_ it. Severs things, and never cleanly. I - personally, I'd take the chance. The chance that things could get fixed. Instead of the 100% rate of failure that leaving incurs.»
> 
> A pause. «That's... not exactly what I'd ask of you, Prowl, it's more like... don't _up_ and leave me. Don't leave me _hanging_. You can go without my permission, I'm not going to take that from you, Primus, but - please, at least just...»

Prowl

> «The potential to get better?» A choked, bitter laugh. It doesn't actually sound like a laugh. «You don't see me have many conversations, do you? A one hundred percent chance of a twenty percent mood drop is better than a ninety-nine percent chance of an eighty percent mood drop.
> 
> «What would you have done if—I'd said I was leaving, so I didn't make it worse? Try to talk me into staying, and be even more upset when I didn't? Convince yourself I thought I'd make it worse because—I really don't care? Nothing I said came out right—everything made you more upset—an explanation for leaving would be no exception.»

Tarantulas

> «That's _selfish_. Assuming - assuming you always _know_ what's best for someone else? Assuming you even know it's a 20% mood drop, or what its distribution or duration is? You have no idea, Prowl, you have - n-no idea.» Back in his lab, Tarantulas was clutching at his chest with a paw.
> 
> «I - I don't know what I _would_ have done, but now? Now, I would take you seriously. I would honor your decision. I - don't really have any other choice, do I.» After a moment, another mumble trailed along. «...I don't... have the _right_ to ask anything more, hyah. I'm... barely a friend, much less a datemate, or...» A heavy sigh. «What am I even thinking.»

Prowl

> «I never assume. I calculate. And I—I know, my ability to calculate people, is subpar. I know the numbers are incomplete—and inaccurate. But—they're the only numbers I have. I can't run calculations with formulae I don't possess.
> 
> «"Now" doesn't matter. "Now" isn't yesterday. Your answer now is different than it would have been yesterday, because—because all this just happened.»
> 
> A shocked silence. «... No. That's... Why do you... What did I do, to—make you think—»

Tarantulas

> «If your calculations are incomplete and inaccurate - isn't that assuming? Can't you - can't you just _ask_?» Tarantulas rubbed at his face, his paw trembling slightly. «And hypotheticals aren't useful, not like this. This - this changes things. You can't extrapolate from a point that's not in the same dimension.»
> 
> All of that flew from Tarantulas's mind as Prowl broke the silence with his last words. Prowl didn't think the same - but what _did_ he think? What did those clipped phrases even mean? Tarantulas didn't want to hope too much.
> 
> «I - I don't know. Not you, you didn't do anything, it's - it's just how it is. Unless that _isn't_ how it is, but I-I just feel like - I feel -» Tarantulas's shoulders were trembling now too. «How could you ignore one mech and engage like that with another and say you hold them on remotely the same level? And after all we've been through lately - the, the fights, the punishments, everything -»

Prowl

> «No. It's not. There's a higher probability I'll be wrong, but at—at least I'm _trying_ to be right. Asking doesn't work. Ask "will you be mad if I say this," then you have to say whatever it is you're asking them about. You have to decide on your own. Ask someone social questions and they get mad at you because you should have already known the answers, and they resent you for not knowing them well enough to already have the answers.
> 
> «If I didn't do something, then you wouldn't feel like this.» Cause and effect. Someone's always at fault, and it's usually the person who doesn't know what he's doing. «Because he was—» Prowl chokes on the words. No, no, no. That's Bonecrusher's business. That's only Bonecrusher's business. «Because I was there on business. I've—I've already said that. If that wasn't good enough for you the first time, I don't—know why it would be now. But it's true. I wasn't there to socialize.»

Tarantulas

> «Ask them _after the fact_. Ask me how I felt when you left me at Dancitron. Ask me what it felt like when - when you hung up on me this-or-that time, or gave up on a situation, or refused to speak to me. _Ask me_ , and I'll _tell you_ , and you can use that data. _Please_.»
> 
> Hhh. Tarantulas had forgotten Prowl had said he was there on business... but... «...That doesn't negate the rest of what I said though, it's - why would I feel any other way about... H-how can I even put it? You don't... don't trust me. I - you - say you do love me, and I - I believe you, but I don't understand how that's _possible_ without the trust, and where that even _puts_ us. It's, it's...»
> 
> Anxiously Tarantulas scrambled around, searching for fragments to maybe, just _maybe_ , support what Prowl was saying-but-not-saying. (Anything to rid himself of the thought that Prowl was just using the word "love" to bend him to his will.) The crawling under his plating abated a little when he realized - Primus. Well, part of it was right there in front of him, wasn't it. As pitiful as it sounded, the fact that Prowl _was_ still talking to him after all, and hadn't left... he did care at least a _little_ then, didn't he?

Prowl

> A harsh, broken laugh. «Oh, _that_ goes well. "Remember when we _fought_ last night? The whole time—I have no idea how you felt. Could you tell me?" If you— When you ask that, people don't _answer_. They just _hurt again_ , because—you should have known already. You _should_ be able to, to, to—to look at them and know, _automatically_ , like telepathy, how they feel. Because everyone _else_ can do that. Everyone else except you. Tell someone you don't know how they felt, they don't—they don't assume you're _missing a sense_ that everyone else has. They assume you _don't **care**_.»
> 
> ... How does Prowl answer that? No, he doesn't trust Tarantulas. He wants to. But how can he? When Tarantulas is still lying to him? Prowl doesn't even know how often he lies, only that he caught him once recently. How many times has he missed?
> 
> «... Love and trust are separate functions.» What else can he say? «I don't— I don't like it.» He would far rather that love were impossible to feel without trust. «But they are. And, here we are.»

Tarantulas

> «I'm talking about **me** , Prowl, **_me_** , not just any mech! I - I'm not sure exactly how to patch whatever missing sense it is, but it's - if I'm _telling_ you to ask me, you might as well fragging try!» A small crack in Tarantulas's voice. «If you _do_ care - that's, that's what you should do. Just _listen to me_ , damnit.»
> 
> Tarantulas took a shaky moment to dwell on that though - separate functions? Really? They seemed inextricably bound together to him, unfortunately so. How could someone hold true affection for someone they couldn't rely on, someone who constantly broke their trust? Tarantulas had already accepted that he was an untrustworthy person, that much was true. How could Prowl love someone like that? What sort of distorted attraction must that be?
> 
> «...I don't - I just don't understand. I -» Momentarily Tarantulas choked. Maybe he should just shut up. Give up. Quiet down. It wasn't really his place to question Prowl's words, was it? «N-nevermind.»

Prowl

> «... I thought I was listening. That's what I'm trying to...» Well, obviously, it isn't working, is it? «Then—how do you...» An irritated huff at himself. «I can't ask that—you've _been telling_ me how you feel, right now. I'm going to—I sound like I—like I'm not listening. Just—know that I am listening, but—tell me how you feel.»
> 
> If Tarantulas didn't understand, how in the world was Prowl going to explain? «... Does—"nevermind" mean you don't want me to ask how you feel?»

Tarantulas

> «You keep trying to _explain_ , you - you interpret, you analyze, you do _all sorts of things_ besides actually - actually...» A deep vent. Prowl was asking now, wasn't he? And he said he was listening. Well then. Where should Tarantulas even start?
> 
> It seemed like a million orns before Tarantulas was able to gather his thoughts again, but eventually... «N-no, Prowl, I want you to ask. The 'nevermind' was with regards to - other things.» A pause. «What I feel... I...
> 
> «When you left Dancitron, or - any of the times you've pushed me away, shoved me out. It's _awful_ , Prowl, it _pains_ me, nearly physically. And I know - outwardly I'm often frustrated, I'll admit, but - the hurt of it takes a second to kick in, like a sudden energon blade in my side. And then it _lasts_ , and Primus almighty does it _fester_ , too. Hours, days - however long, until you let me back in. Because if left to myself with no input, shut off, ignored - what else can I do with the pain but speculate why you decided to _inflict_ it? Why I wasn't worth sticking around for, wasn't worth - worth including?» Tarantulas left off with another shaky vent, but the pause did little to help. Just - get this over with.
> 
> «...And you know what I think of, during those times, Prowl? What I feel then? I feel - so _small_. Sometimes - boxed, scolded, ignored, and... This might not make any sense, but most of all - **inconvenient**. As if your affection for me may be there, but it's misplaced, an irritant, a bother. You've got so much _better_... so, why? Why should you want _this_ too? You don't need this.» A weak, tittering laugh. Really, Prowl, who in their right minds would even want an awful, untrustworthy, over-emotional, half-alien monstrosity in the first place? Not that Tarantulas was going to say that much aloud, but still.

Prowl

> «... It's n...»
> 
> No. Tarantulas just said he doesn't want Prowl to explain. So don't explain.
> 
> What does that leave for him to say? Tarantulas doesn't want apologies unless they meet his criteria, and Prowl's too tired to figure out if any apology he could make could meet Tarantulas's standards. _I don't want you to feel that way_ was just—worthless. It didn't do anything. It was little better than a whine. What's left for him to say? What options does he have?
> 
> «... Is that rhetorical?»

Tarantulas

> After all that, Tarantulas couldn't help but laugh a little more. All that, and that was the question Prowl went for.
> 
> «You know, I'm not sure. If you _do_ have an answer for it, go on - go right ahead. I - I want to hear it.»

Prowl

> Dammit. «I—no. I was...» He was hoping the question was rhetorical, but obligated to check in case it wasn't.
> 
> This. This is why Prowl can't ask questions. This is why Prowl can't check and confirm. Because things like this happen. If he hadn't checked, the question would have been rhetorical. Because he checked, it no longer was rhetorical, and now Tarantulas will be hurt by a lack of an answer—and Prowl can't give an answer.
> 
> «I can't answer questions like that. I'll make it worse.»

Tarantulas

> «But that means you _have_ an answer. Are we really going to play that game, Prowl?» A sort of despair tinged Tarantulas's vocals. «So you're _dead set_ on reinforcing restless ignorance instead of admitting a painful truth? Just - out with it, Prowl, I'm - I'm tired of this.»

Prowl

> «I...»
> 
> Silence.
> 
> He can't even get his words to— Where did his vocalizer go? _Function_ , dammit!
> 
> «N—» FUNCTION! «N—no, the truth isn't painful, but I c—I can't—I can't say it. I can't say—good things. They sound wrong. I ruin them. I can't.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas wasn't sure whether to put his helm in his paws again or get up and start pacing. Why. Why did Prowl have to do this. Even if he didn't mean to, Prowl knew exactly how to twist Tarantulas's spark in the most bittersweet ways.
> 
> «You - you haven't even _tried_ yet. Give it a chance - I'm asking you. _Please_. It's - I'm - I'm not a mind-reader either, Prowl. If you don't say it, I can't possibly know what it is in the first place, regardless of how it's delivered.»

Prowl

> «I can't.» That was one thing he knew was true—one thing he could say confidently. His spark sputtered, his arms shook so hard he couldn't keep holding his hands to his face, his fuel tank threatened to turn inside out, at the mere thought of doing otherwise. «I can't. I can't.» Maybe if it had been any conversation but this one. Maybe if he'd had time to prepare—if it had been his choice—if he wasn't already so exhausted and nervewracked he felt like he was falling apart. But if he even tries to open his mouth to say what Tarantulas wants the best he might get to come out is a croak. «I can't.»

Tarantulas

> Four times, Prowl had said it. Four times, an assertion that he couldn't say what he actually thought - felt? - and each time he asserted it, Tarantulas felt worse and worse. Not worse for himself, though. Worse for Prowl.
> 
> Since Tarantulas was hovering somewhere between crying and sighing, he just let the silence hang there for a bit. What could he even say? He'd let Prowl know how he felt, and now Prowl couldn't answer.
> 
> «...When - when do you think you could, maybe? Ever?»

Prowl

> «I d...»
> 
> ... Say something. Say something. Anything. Please say something. Don't make Tarantulas think you abandoned him again. Don't make him feel inconvenient. Don't make him feel like a burden. Say something. Just say something. Please say something. Please.
> 
> His processor fans were so loud he couldn't hear the outside world, and his head was still hot. He fumbled under his shin armor for his cache of magnets—he needed something else to focus on. The conversation was a labyrinth and he kept getting turned around and ending up farther from the exit, he can't keep going like this or he's going to fry his processor. He needed to refocus and try again—and fast.
> 
> It took him four times to get something out from under his armor. It was Tarantulas's magnets. Prowl stared at them.
> 
> And then, in a fit of uncalculated desperation, seized a snapshot of the magnets in his hand, HUD and all, and sent it to Tarantulas. There. A picture. A reason for Prowl to want Tarantulas. It's the smallest and least important reason but it's a start. Tarantulas's magnets in Prowl's hands, Prowl's HUD covering them with the arcing lines of magnetic fields and calculations about their strength.
> 
> Just, pay no mind to how fuzzy the edges of the picture are. Or the low fuel warning. Or the desperately low energy warning. Or the angry exclamation-point-in-a-triangle Processor Meltdown Imminent warning. He didn't have time to take those off the HUD.

Tarantulas

> _How could Tarantulas possibly ignore those?_ It took him a moment to fully register what the image was in the first place because of all the interference. In fact, the meaning behind the magnets was all but lost on him for now.
> 
> With a start, he leapt out of his seat, nearly yelling into his comm unit. « _Prowl!_ Prowl, that's not _'tired,'_ that's - you're going **offline** you idiot -»
> 
> But what could Tarantulas do about it? Prowl probably wasn't going to listen to him if he told him to refuel and recharge - Tarantulas wasn't even sure Prowl could do it for himself at this point. And Tarantulas was forbidden from coming over, full stop. He _could_ still try to go and face the consequences later, but -
> 
> Immediately Tarantulas shot a slew of pings at the Constructicons' communal commlink, attaching Prowl's HUD snapshot to the barrage. As much as he hated it, they'd have to be his first go-to here.

Prowl

> The first thing Tarantulas got from the Constructicons was «FRAG OFF!»
> 
> The second thing Tarantulas got was «Seriously, frag off!»

Tarantulas

> Nope, definitely not fragging off. Tarantulas still had Prowl on the other line, too, but had him muted now.
> 
> «Do you WANT Prowl to go offline? _Primus_ , go get him a cube, _please_ , or - is there something else you can do, maybe? I -»

Prowl

> «If Prowl wants to fuel, he can fuel himself! He's been refusin' to eat. That's on him.»
> 
> «He knows how to feed himself and initiate a defrag.»
> 
> «Torque off, _bug_. We're dealin' with our own scrap, we can't deal with Prowl's too.»

Tarantulas

> Refusing to eat? Dealing with their own scrap? What in the pits was going on over there?
> 
> « _Why is he refusing to eat!?_ And why don't you care that he's on the edge of a _meltdown_ \- I - I've never even _seen_ that warning before!» Alright, time to start pacing frantically. «I _will_ come over if you all aren't going to help with this. Is that what you want?»

Prowl

> «We don't know, he ain't tellin' us! He just stopped!»
> 
> «It means yer overwhelmin' him! _That's_ what it means! Meltdown warnin' means _leave boss the frag alone!_ »

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas skidded to a stop. Wait, meltdown - a sort of mental meltdown? Was Tarantulas actually the problem here? Was he pushing Prowl toward - ah frag. He'd known he was stressing Prowl out, but this, whatever it was, on top of low fuel and energy -
> 
> Without so much as a ping, Tarantulas dropped the line and switched back over to Prowl, a nervous whine in his voice. « _Please_ go get some energon, Prowl. _Please_. I don't know what's going on, but I need you to at least do that much for me.» It wouldn't be a cure-all, but at least if he could get him to listen to that, it'd be a step in the right direction.

Prowl

> Dammit. Prowl's fingers seized shut around the magnets. He'd been making progress, and now he was going to lose it. He didn't think he could speak again yet.
> 
> Months ago, the first time Prowl plugged into Metroplex, Starscream and Soundwave had threatened to unplug him before Metroplex had finished the proper eject procedures; and Prowl was unable to speak enough to get out a sentence, much less to say that by unplugging him prematurely they were threatening him with brain damage. Metroplex solved the problem by blasting Soundwave with a loud enough burst of data to give him an instant headache.
> 
> Now, Prowl forwarded that exact same data burst to Tarantulas.
> 
> It looked something like [this](https://68.media.tumblr.com/7adf80c564fdbc401fa8696934e47870/tumblr_inline_mp4u33EOxZ1qz4rgp.jpg).

Tarantulas

> _Yeesh_. Well, that was one way to make a point. Tarantulas was stunned into silence, his processor buzzing from the sudden onslaught of signal, his visor even fritzing out for a moment.
> 
> What - what did _that_ mean? Aside from the obvious, of course. Did Prowl want him to stop talking entirely, to hang up? If that meant it'd tip Prowl into meltdown, Tarantulas decided he'd better listen. But Primus, it was hard. All Tarantulas could think about was how low all Prowl's levels were and how awful he'd sounded before he'd sent the image with his HUD...
> 
> So he stayed on the line, but muted it. He'd be there whenever - _if_ ever - Prowl decided he was ready to reinitiate contact.

Prowl

> For six, seven minutes, there was nothing from Prowl's end. He'd let himself get pushed far closer to a full processor crash than he'd allow in any other circumstances, and it was going to take longer than normal to get stabilized.
> 
> But once he was back at acceptable levels—once the processor meltdown warning was gone and his head wasn't burning and he could hear past his fans again—he started sending pictures, all taken from the view of his own optics, all with his incessant numbers and calculations overlaying everything.
> 
> Prowl's fingers, curled in the fur of Tarantulas's chest; his hands are covered with hundreds of tiny pinpricks of light and the whole image is covered with lines of thousands of numbers, calculations pertaining to the motion of every single individual setae he can feel, crowding out every other warning, every other worry, every other thought.
> 
> Pieces of Tarantulas's blueprints for his own body, Prowl's notes overlaid on top, curves calculated to trace every edge of his body, sweeping lines demonstrating where his parts would connect to each other as he transformed, an analysis of the basic geometry of Tarantulas's body—the only art Prowl knows how to appreciate.
> 
> The look of intense focus on Tarantulas's face, web strung between his paws in a thread Jacob's ladder.
> 
> Tarantulas resting with his arms crossed on Prowl's lap, head lifted just slightly enough to show off his visor curved in a wry little smile.
> 
> The top half of an image showing the bottom edge of the blueprints for Windchill's gun, the bottom half showing Prowl holding Tarantulas's paw over Prowl's own interface array, calculations running along the side of his HUD, testing out combinations of permittivities and molecular structures for different piezoelectric crystals.
> 
> Tarantulas's head tiredly tucked against Prowl's chest, the rest of his body slumped along the length of Prowl's, web hammock curling up on either side of them.
> 
> Prowl's never going to be able to say out loud what it is that draws him to Tarantulas. Not to Tarantulas himself. And images alone can't demonstrate it, not when so much of it is in how Tarantulas thinks, in the way their minds play off each other's, in the wild mental energy Tarantulas brings to all his work.
> 
> But please—let it be better than nothing.

Tarantulas

> It was definitely better than nothing. Infinitely so. The images took Tarantulas completely by surprise; he'd been expecting a single word at best. But this...
> 
> Slowly Tarantulas sank back into his seat, a paw clutching at his chest, as he pored over what Prowl had sent. So it'd started with the magnets, and it tumbled out from there - was Prowl trying to show him what he couldn't possibly say? What did it mean?
> 
> Magnets. Fur. Blueprints. Silk ladder. Visor smile. Nucleon rifle. Cuddling. All of these were things Tarantulas had offered to Prowl, experiences they'd shared, and positive ones at that. They gripped Tarantulas's spark and wouldn't let go - a sort of patronus drowning out the insidious shadows of doubt, frustration, and despair he'd been fixating on before. This - this was why Prowl wanted him, then? These small, precious moments. At least this was something to cling to, however cryptic the images were.
> 
> « _Prowl_... oh Prowl...» Tarantulas relaxed the paw on his chest, letting it join the other one in his lap. «Th - thank you. I... don't know what to say, I...» A deep ventilation. «I love you too, Prowl, I do, so very much. And I want you safe. _Please_ take care of yourself...»

Prowl

> «... Don't—»
> 
> Words, words. Come back. Function again. Let's go.
> 
> «Don't—change the topic.»

Tarantulas

> A moment of hovering confusion, then: «Which topic? I - that is, I mentioned two, and I'm not purposefully diverting from anything, I - I promise.»

Prowl

> «Don't start talking about me.» Prowl knew that voice. He'd heard that voice before. It was the voice of someone who'd decided Prowl had problems and who had decided it was their business and obligation to talk to Prowl about the problems they thought he had. «This is about you. Your feelings.»

Tarantulas

> «We can't have a conversation about my damned _feelings_ when your systems are about to shut down! And besides, my feelings are about _you_ right now, I'm _concerned_. I can't just ignore that.»

Prowl

> «I told you—what was it?—FOUR TIMES that I was tired, and each of those times you concluded that your emotional state was more important than my physical state. My physical state has not changed since the first time I said I was tired, so neither has the fact that your emotional state takes precedence to it. Stay on topic. You're miserable because of me and I'm not allowed to prevent it from getting worse by hanging up so I need to fix it.»

Tarantulas

> «I'm not miserable!» For some reason the word felt strange coming out of Tarantulas's vocalizer. «And I didn't know the _extent_ of your physical depletion, you can't fault me for that. I'm more affected right now by your present condition than I am by what we were talking about before, and besides, the images, they - they helped.»

Prowl

> «They're just images. They don't undo the fact that I am systematically doing something _wrong_.»

Tarantulas

> «But what if it's a matter of _perspective?_ » Tarantulas could feel a part of himself wilting. Prowl might be partially right, but Tarantulas couldn't bring himself to think about it anymore, not with the way things were right now. «You did say sorry, and I - I know you _meant_ it. Isn't all we can do now just - move forward?»

Prowl

> «"Sorry" is only an apology if it comes with an effort to rectify the situation. Without that, it's only an emotional statement. I need to know what I'm doing wrong so I can do it right.»

Tarantulas

> «I - thought I elaborated on that already. Maybe you can...» What did Tarantulas even want? It was impossible to say - from what he could tell, it boiled down to wanting more attention, but there was no way he'd ever ask for that. Not outright.
> 
> «...How about - not ignoring me, like earlier? Trying your best not to, that is. Or having some sort of... signal? If you can't or don't feel like speaking at the moment, etcetera. And not leaving suddenly. _Please_.» Certainly not all-encompassing, but a start.

Prowl

> «Not leaving suddenly, not ignoring you, yes, but—you were upset before I did that. That was... that was the last straw, not the cause. And you—say it's happened before, but won't tell me when. There's... there's more to this. Isn't there?»

Tarantulas

> «I told you I'd go back and - and find other instances like earlier if you wanted me to, though I'd rather not. I - think that's the main gist of it. I don't know how else to explain it, Prowl, I simply... it's...» Rapidly Tarantulas was shrinking away from the subject. For some reason it just felt _wrong_ now, to problem-solve like this. And maybe it was easier to go back to ignoring whatever problem there'd been until it overwhelmed them again.

Prowl

> «... Is that all I have to work with, then?»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. «You say that as if it's troublesome. What _else_ ought I say, Prowl? It's a - a _feeling_. A conglomerate of them, as I explained. My feelings are the problem, really. Hyeh. Pesky emotions.»

Prowl

> «Feelings have causes and I'm the cause. I'm the problem. I can't fix the problem without enough information about what it is. That's all the information I'm getting, isn't it.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas huffed into the commlink. «What do you _want_ , Prowl? I wouldn't have brought any of this up if I knew exactly what the problem was and how to ameliorate it! I don't know how any of this works, I -»
> 
> ...Was that what he'd meant to say? He didn't know how this worked? What was 'this'? Internally Tarantulas cringed. Yes, he knew what 'this' was, and it stung a little to think about.

Prowl

> Silence. «... I don't know.»
> 
> He held back a sigh. «This isn't—it's not supposed to be about what I want. It's what you want. If that's all you want to share...» Then Prowl will take his feelings of helpless uselessness, and his fear that he'll be unable to fix a thing because the problem to be fixed is so obvious that normal people are incapable of even explaining the problem to someone like him, and the corresponding terror that this whole conversation is just foreshadowing to a miserable and mutually painful breakup that Prowl will be powerless to prevent—and he'll stomp them down and lock them up, so they don't become Tarantulas's problem. Tarantulas was trying to unload his burden, not adopt Prowl's. «... then, that's that, I suppose.»

Tarantulas

> «But it's _not_ , is it.» Tarantulas stewed in that for a minute. «Can we... can we settle this now, and if I think of something more I ought to say, I'll say it then.»

Prowl

> «Why are you ask—? I don't know whether or not it is.»
> 
> Settle it? Settling it implies a resolution. Settling it implies a solution. Settling implies fixing. «... Can we?»
> 
> No. Wrong answer. «If you want to.»

Tarantulas

> «...I think I would prefer it. Although - quite honestly, I won't be able to think of much else besides your HUD after having seen what condition you're in now, so it's not as if I'll be doing anything significant if we do hang up. It's - up in the air.»

Prowl

> «... Is there the _slightest possible_ chance that if we don't hang up, we are going to make any more progress.»

Tarantulas

> «...I don't know.» Tarantulas's absolute least favorite phrase to use.

Prowl

> «... Then it doesn't matter.»

Tarantulas

> Part of Tarantulas was tempted to drop the line there, he wasn't sure why - but he didn't.
> 
> «We should - we should talk another time, then. Not now. Sometime less... delicate, I think.» A pause. «But you _have_ to promise me you're going to refuel and recharge soon, Prowl. Can you swear that?»

Prowl

> «Of _course_ I'm going to refuel and recharge. The only reason I'm not trying to recharge _right now_ is because—» No. Stop. That sounds too much like blaming Tarantulas. And it's already too late for it to _not_ sound like blaming Tarantulas, isn't it?
> 
> «... The only reason I'm this low on fuel is because I'm missing a day of work and the previous day was... draining. I'll refuel as soon as I get to work tomorrow and be fine.»

Tarantulas

> Yep, too late, Prowl. But Tarantulas took the guilt and defensive ire that'd surged up and swallowed it back down without saying anything.
> 
> «Is that a promise, then?»

Prowl

> «Yes. It's a promise. I was going to do it anyway.»

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas sighed quietly. «...Thank you. I - I love you dearly, Prowl, never forget that.»

Prowl

> «I know.» There were times when it felt more like a burden. This was one.

Tarantulas

> Tarantulas let silence settle in for a moment. Primus, how he wished Prowl could say those words back to him... but that would be asking _far_ too much, and he knew it.
> 
> «I - shouldn't keep you from recharge, so I suppose, unless there's anything else... Goodnight.»

Prowl

> «Good night.»
> 
> He waited another moment, to ensure that Tarantulas wasn't going to say anything else; and then ended the comm.
> 
> He scrubbed his face with his hands, curled up tighter, buried his face in his knees, and folded his hands over the back of his head.
> 
> He'd promised he was going to try to sleep, and he was. But he didn't think he'd succeed.


End file.
